


lil' red riding hood

by WannabeMarySue



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternative Universe- Werewolves, Detective!Tim, F/M, M/M, Murder Mystery, Pack Dynamics, Scent Marking, Werewolf!Jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-24 13:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WannabeMarySue/pseuds/WannabeMarySue
Summary: Every evening, something howled in the night, and every evening that something stood closer and closer to the circle of pale light that spilled off the back porch. Huge and black and, Tim discovered on the third night, with a shock of white fur running ragged between its glowing blue eyes.





	1. you're everything a big bad wolf could want

**Author's Note:**

> this au has been rattling around my brain for a while now. here's a oneshot turned multi-chap of pure werewolf self-indulgence. title from lil' red riding hood by amanda seyfried. i also suggest listening to this playlist while you read https://open.spotify.com/user/capmack/playlist/19eZsDOsAKZRmHKqElrOCo?si=SrIx5ZqERX2ctKZUSdVXLw enjoy ~
> 
> this fic now has beautiful artwork by @brigetmiget over on tumbler: https://brigetmiget.tumblr.com/image/178197733039

The email had been innocuous enough, the subject line read “Case #D35J,” and the sender was some police department in Colorado from a town Tim had never heard of. It was a simple case file, most of the information redacted, but it had intrigued Tim enough to research the town. With a population of barely 300, Creede seemed like the kind of small, mountain town were nothing much happened ever. The only news story that popped up when he googled the town’s name was the same one detailed in the case file--a missing girl, about 14 years of age. She had supposedly disappeared after going just off a hiking trail to pee, and the case had seemed cold when no evidence was discovered. That is, until her body, cruelly mangled, had been found next to the only road that led into the town, several miles from the hiking trail where she had gotten lost. 

Along with the case file, an invitation to take on the case had been extended to Tim from the local sheriff’s office. Colorado was a long jump from his usual east coast haunts, but Tim was one of the best freelance detectives currently working, and the picture of the girl’s family, broken from the loss of their daughter, tugged at his heart just hard enough for him to consider it.

“Think of it as a vacation,” he had told Conner at the time, leaning against his desk in the Metropolis precinct. 

“Most people don’t factor possible murder into their vacations.” Conner didn’t lift his head from his work as he spoke, but Tim shrugged anyway and shot him a wry smile.

“The fresh air will do me good. Been spending way too much time in these big cities.”

“These big cities need you, Timmy,” Conner reminded him.

“So does the town of Creede, Colorado, apparently,” he replied. 

And with that, Tim had packed his few possessions and booked a plane to Colorado, excited to start on the complicated puzzle of a case. It was about a three hour drive from the nearest airport, so Tim had rented a car and spent the time listening to the detective recordings about the case. It was a beautiful drive, he had to admit, mountains and forests rising around him, threatening to swallow the narrow road whole. The greenery and mist and cool summer air painted a stark contrast to skyscrapers and harsh concrete that had been his life for the past few years. 

“Extensive teeth marks on the body,” the detective reported, his voice grainy over the car’s shitty radio, “Inconclusive data on what the canine’s belong to…”

From what Tim could gather, the girl’s body had been discovered from than half a year after she had been reported missing, chewn up like an old dog toy, but forensics had reported that she couldn’t have been dead for more than three days. The bite marks and chunks of missing flesh originally pointed towards an animal attack, possibly a mountain lion, but the freshness of the corpse and few other, redacted, pieces of evidence, made the Creede police force think it was something more. Murder, even. 

Ahead of the car, emerging from the mist and late afternoon sunlight was the small town of Creede. A sign to the right of the road displayed the town’s motto in peeling paint: “There is no night in Creede.” Tim rolled his eyes at the dramatic line and kept driving.

The main street ran straight through the middle of town, ending with the small police station, where Tim pulled up. A large front window let Tim see right inside, where a group of gathered people were all watching him. Unnerved, he grabbed his bag and cellphone, exiting the car. A woman, dressed in a Park Ranger uniform, her blonde hair glinting in the sunlight, opened the station’s door to greet him. She grinned at him, baring her teeth more than actually smiling, and gripped his hand in a painful shake.

“Stephanie,” she introduced herself.

“Tim,” he replied, rescuing his hand from her grip.

A man in a sheriff’s uniform  walked up then, shaking his hand much less enthusiastically than Stephanie. 

“Hello Tim,” he greeted, “I’m Sherriff Murphy. You received that case file from me.”

“Of course, how do you do?” Tim looked at the two other officers in the small station, staring at him with inexplicable looks on their faces. 

“Could be better,” Murphy replied, “But I’m not going to burden you with that just yet. You’ve had a long day of travel. Steph here’ll show you to where you will be staying. I’m afraid the inn’s all full up this time of the summer, but there’s a lovely cabin right up the road that’s yours free of charge.”

“Hope you don’t mind the woods,” Stephanie said as she pushed him back outside towards his car. 

It felt almost as if he was being ushered out of the station. If he weren’t so tired from his drive, he might have had the energy to be indigent at the manhandling, but as it was, Tim wanted nothing more than a nice long nap.

“You can leave your car here,” Stephanie told him, “You can grab it tomorrow after we take a look at some of the trails.” 

She motioned for him to get in her pickup truck. He climbed in, inhaling the scent of old leather and engine oil.

“What trails?” He asked.

“The one’s Abigail and her family hiked before she disappeared.”

“Oh.” Tim didn’t know what else to say, and Stephanie’s eyes were hard as she put the car into reverse and backed up.

Abigail Graves had only been 14 when she had disappeared. According to the locals interviewed, her family had been visiting Creede for years, spending long weekends at the inn and hiking through the San Juan National Forest. As far as the innkeeper knew and the few park rangers interviewed, Abigail had known the local trails fairly well and had been as seasoned a hiker aa a 14 year old could be.

Stephanie started talking to fill the silence, pointing out different buildings and telling Tim what they were for. Out by the cliffs, she pointed to an old creek bed in the cliff’s shade.

“We hold a big ol’ hockey tournament there when it freezes over in the winter. It’s a huge tourist draw.”

They drove past it, closer to the woods, and Tim saw a few houses melt into view from the gloom under the trees. She pulled her truck into a gravel driveway and gestured grandly to the cabin in front of them. 

“A friend of mine rents it out to vacationers sometimes,” she told him, grabbing his bag as she jumped out of the car. 

“It looks cozy,” he replied, It really did though. Like most other mountain cabins, the outside was covered in wood slats, dark and weathered by time, but the eaves were sweeping and the front porch had wrought iron railings and old rockers that looked more comfortable than most of the furniture in his Metropolis apartment. Stephanie followed him up the porch steps and unlocked the front door before handing him the key.

“There’s some food in the fridge and cabinets for you and extra towels in the hall closet.” She pointed at a piece of paper taped to the fridge, “Important phone numbers, in case you need anything.”  

“This is all amazing,” Tim said, “You really didn’t have to--”

“And you didn’t have to fly across the country for one small town cold case, but here you are,” her eyes bored into his as she said it. He looked away.

“Needed some fresh air.”

The look she shot him said she didn’t believe him at all. That was fine. Tim wasn’t here to convince some well-meaning park ranger that he was mentally stable--he was here to figure out what happened to poor Abigail Graves. 

Stephanie walked through the den and into the one bedroom, putting his bag on the bed. 

“I’ll let you rest,” she said, “I’ll be back to pick you up at 9 tomorrow morning.”

“Have a good evening,” Tim said, following her to the door.

“You too, Tim.”

Tim stood on the porch, watching her old truck drive back up the road. The sun was low in the sky, and the trees shadows stretched long over the cracked road. Tim’s cabin was tucked back into the woods, the other houses along the road not visible from the porch, and the seclusion, instead of worrying him, made him feel relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. 

He went back inside, and though he wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep the afternoon away, Tim wandered back into the kitchen and began rooting through the fridge. There were basics like eggs and milk, but there were also several neatly labeled tupperwares with homemade dinners. He grabbed one labeled lasagna and tossed it in the microwave. He wondered if Stephanie had made them, but she hadn’t really struck him as the cooking type. 

He took the lasagna tin to the couch, sunk into the lived-in leather and turned on the TV. Some sitcom reruns were playing, and he zoned out as he ate the lasagna, content to go numb, for just a little while.

.

Tim jolted awake, the cold lasagna tin still in his lap and the local weather playing on the TV. Morning sunlight was streaming through the windows and someone was rapping on the cabin’s front door.

“Shit,” Tim muttered under his breath, jumping up.

“One second!” He yelled towards the door. He ran into the kitchen, sliding over the wood 

floor in his socks, and threw the lasagna tin in the sink. He didn’t have time for a shower, so he hoped a healthy amount of deodorant would be enough. He threw on some fresh clothes, grabbed his packet of case files, and shoved them in a backpack with his phone and wallet. He slipped his shoes on and ran back to the door in what he considered record time.

Stephanie was leaning against the dorm frame when he opened the door. Her smile was knowing, but she didn’t question his rushed and slightly bedraggled look. Instead she held up a large cup of steaming coffee.

“Hope you like it with lots of sugar.”

“You are a goddess,” he told her, carefully cradling the paper cup between his hands. 

The steam rose up, fogging his glasses, but he didn’t even care, because he could smell the blessed caffeine.        

“Fun night?” she asked, leading him back to her truck.

He paused between gulps of scalding coffee to ruefully say, “Oh yeah, I was out all night clubbing.”

“Where? In the woods?”

“Don’t underestimate a wolf pack’s ability to throw a good rager.” He snorted.

She gave him a strange look, but then laughed and said, “You’re a strange one, Timmy.”

“Not the first time someone’s said that to me.”

“It’s a good thing.”

“Sure.”

They drove in silence for a while, the windows open and old country music playing over the radio. Stephanie’s hair was in a long, loose braid, and stray tendrils were dancing in the wind. 

“What?” Her voice broke the calm quiet.

“Pardon?” He shook his head, trying to dispel his sleepy fog.

“You were staring.”

“Sorry, this is all just--”

“Different?”

Tim looked at her again, trying to gauge her. 

“Something like that. Haven’t really been out of the city in years.

“A change of scenery can be nice. Refreshing.”

The irony of how close her statement was to what he had told Conner just days ago wasn’t lost on him.

She pulled the truck to the side of the road, next to a large, wooden trail sign. 

“Where the hell is he?” Steph muttered to herself, craning her head around to look back down the road.

“Who?” Tim had thought it was just the two of them going down the trail.

“What?” Steph asked, distracted.

“Are we meeting someone?”

“Oh, yes. Jason, my brother. He was one of the original rangers to search the trails after Abigail went missing. Figured he could help us out.”

Just then, a mechanical roar rang up the road.

“Finally,” Stephanie said.

A motorcycle came screaming up the road, pulling up next to the truck with a spray of dirt. Astride the bike was a man more akin to a brick house than a park ranger. He wore a leather jacket over his uniform and scuffed work boots. He took of his red bike helmet, and his hair, mussed from the ride, had a shock of white rising above his brow. 

“Took you long enough,” Steph shot at him.

“Not like y’all have been here that long,” he retorted, dismounting. 

“Long enough,” she replied, petulant--like a sister. Tim snickered, and Jason’s eyes slid past his sister to him. They were blue, Tim noted, and stormy. And then his gaze was back on Stephanie and in a gruff voice he said, “Let’s go.”

“You haven’t even introduced yourself to Tim, asshole,” Stephanie said, grabbing her own backpack and heading to the trail.

“Jason,” he said, with a nod in Tim’s direction.

“Tim,” he replied, not really knowing what else to say.

“No, shit,” came the reply, and then Jason was forging ahead, setting a brisk pace down the main trail.

With a sigh, Tim swung his backpack on and followed. 

On the road, the Colorado sunlight had been bright and clear, but under the thick foliage, they had been plunged into a perpetual twilight. Song birds flew from tree to tree, and squirrels chattered to each other in the undergrowth; the three of them hiked along in silence for almost twenty minutes before Stephanie broke and began talking a mile a minute.

“I knew Abigail when she was just a little kid. Her parents used to put her in the Ranger Day Camp when they went on long hikes. She loved the forest, but she was a serious little girl. Always followed the rules to a T.”

“So, she was experienced with hiking?” Tim asked.

Stephanie nodded, “As soon as she was old enough to hike a mile, her parents started taking her down the trails. She loved hiking. The whole family did.”

They fell back into silence, Stephanie and Tim walking side by side while Jason forged ahead. Captivated by the forest around him, Tim was busy craning his head up to look through the foliage when Jason stopped ahead of him. He ran into Jason’s well-muscled back, his face smushing between the taller man’s shoulder blades. Tim let out a very dignified squeak and jumped back. Jason just gave him a very unimpressed look.

Tim mentally kicked himself, but was distracted when Jason said, “Here’s where her family reported her going off the trail to use the bathroom.”

“This isn’t that far from the start of the trail,” Tim observed, “Would someone with her hiking experience really get lost here?”

“Well,” Stephanie chimed in, “there’s a stream further into the woods, and her family said they had been there many times. At first, they thought she had just walked that way. During the original search, dogs followed a trail that led in that direction. It ended near the stream bank though.”

“Can we walk to it?” Tim asked.

Jason nodded and led them off the trail, down a path, that, while not officially marked, was worn enough that Tim could tell others had walked it. Off the trail, the forest was even more magical, and Jason seemed more relaxed. He pointed out animal tracks to Tim.

“You can tell by toe pattern that it was a bear. A big one at that. Probably went down to the stream looking for the berries that grow along the banks.”

Ahead of them, the stream wound through forest floor, more animal prints saved on its damp banks. Jason opened his mouth, probably to name the animal prints, but Tim held up his hand.

Near the bushes along the stream bank, some old and fading crime scene tape was fluttering in the breeze. Tim walked up and grabbed it between his fingers. It was gritty with dirt and time. Looking beyond the bushes, Tim realized the crime scene tape must of surrounded the small pool that formed off the side of the stream. Here, the water flow slowed and gathered in a pool of reeds and dark water--it was no doubt a breeding ground for mosquitoes. 

“This was where her shirt was found, right?” Part of the information not redacted from the case files had talked about how her shirt had been found soon after her disappearance, but that had been the only real evidence found until her body had shown up on the outskirts of town months later--naked and almost unrecognizable. 

“Yes,” Stephanie was solemn now, joining Tim next to the pool. Jason stayed back, a strange look on his face, his head almost turned completely away from they were standing, as if he smelled something  bad. 

Tim stood there for awhile, the other two quiet, absorbing the tranquil scenery. It was clear the place had been searched thoroughly several times. Old boot prints were only partially obscured along the water’s edge and enough of the leaves and underbrushed had the telltale signs of meddling humans. There wasn’t much Tim would get from the crime scene that hadn’t already been completely tainted by others.

He turned back to Stephanie.

“Alright?” She asked. He shrugged in reply, and the three of them trudged back to where the cars were parked. 

“I should go to the station, see if I can find case files where all of the information  _ isn’t  _ redacted.”

Stephanie nodded, “I’ll see if I can help you dig them up.”

They were back at her truck now--Jason hopped on his bike and drove off with a roar of the engine and no good-bye.

“He’s nice,” Tim commented drily.

“Jay’s not much of a people-person anymore.”

It was an odd reply, but Tim didn’t linger on it. He could sense history there, and he had a rule about not getting too emotionally invested in the people around him when working a case. It was distracting. It was also the man reason why he didn’t have a large amount of friends, not that he needed really needed much besides Conner.

Back at the sheriff's station, Steph was able to dig up some files that were marginally more detailed than the original one’s he was given. 

“You can take these back to your place, if you want,” she offered, twirling the keys to her truck around her finger.

The idea of a hot cup of tea and being able to spread the files out in peace and quiet sounded appealing, so he took her up on the offer.

It was late afternoon by the time Steph dropped him back off at his little cabin tucked into the woods. She didn’t even get out of the car, just yelled that she would see him tomorrow as she reversed back out of the gravel driveway, pebbles spewing under the tires as she drove off into the fading sunlight.

Tim was, admittedly, exhausted, but he wanted to give the file a cursory look over before he crashed in front of the TV. There was an ancient kettle on the stove in the small kitchen, so he boiled some water for tea, before wandering to the back porch to clear off the table that was back there. He grabbed a few clean rocks from the grass close to the cabin and laid out the pages he thought would be most relevant, weighing the corners down. Pictures of Abigail stared up at him; she’d had freckles and a gapped tooth grin, and Tim felt something like a twinge in his stomach. He was a damn good detective, it was the reason he did what he did, but the child cases always left him feeling a little empty--not quite all there. 

Inside, the kettle whistled, shrill and demanding, and he wandered back inside to get his tea.

He flipped the back porch lights on before going outside, and proceeded to get utterly lost in the case file and his own research. By the time he had resurfaced, the sun had set and the cicadas were deafening. He closed his laptop and gathered the file back together. His eyes burned a little bit from staring at his screen, and he felt a little hollow inside, a little distracted. That’s why it took him a second to realize something wasn’t quite right. He sat still in his chair, case file forgotten in his lap.

The cicadas were silent--the suddenly still night air was almost oppressive, and Tim didn’t dare move, fearful of shattering the strange stillness. It felt as though the woods were holding its breath.

Several beats later, a howl sounded from deeper in the forest. Several more answered.  _ Were there wolves in Colorado _ , Tim wondered, absently, eyes straining into the darkness at the edge of the woods.

The howl sounded again, closer, but the answering ones still sounded far off. Abruptly, there was movement at the edge of the woods, outside the warm glow the cabin’s lights cast around the porch. A huge wolf stood there, a dark smudge against the even darker forest. Tim stared at it, and it felt as if the wolf was staring right back. He wasn’t quite sure how long he sat there having a staring contest with the beast. After a while, the beast lifted its head and howled, long and powerful. Deep in the woods, others answered. Apparently finished with staring at Tim, the wolf wheeled around and ran back into the woods, melting into the inky blackness.

As soon as the wolf disappeared, the cicadas started up again, loud and demanding, and as if a spell was broken, Tim went back to gathering his stuff up. He just dumped everything onto the counter inside and crashed into bed, feeling strangely off-kilter and even more exhausted than before. 

.

He woke up the next morning to sun streaming into the bedroom. Tim fumbled for his phone on the bedside table; the display read seven am, and he groaned. It was way too early to be up, but he had to pee and he figured he could get in a couple hours of work before Steph came to pick him up, so he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. 

Mind thick with sleep, he splashed frigid water on his face and absentmindedly brushed his teeth while he puttered into the kitchen to start the kettle. By the time he was finished making himself semi-presentable, the kettle was whistling. He prepared his cup of tea and scooped up the case file and laptop from where he had deposited them the night before, figuring he could go do work again on the back porch. He was puzzling over the strange encounter from the night before, trying to decide if there were wolves in Colorado when he almost stepped on a naked body sprawled on the back porch. 

He let out a very manly squeal and jumped backwards. The naked body on the porch stirred with an annoyed groan, his head twisting to the side, groggy and irritated--it was Jason, Tim realized, recognizing the stark white streak nestled amongst his dark hair. 

Stephanie’s gruff and grumpy brother was naked and apparently passed out on Tim’s back porch. Less startled now, Tim ventured forward to nudge Jason’s side with his foot.

“I’m up,” Jason grumbled, swatting Tim’s foot away.

“You’re naked,” Tim replied, bemused. That seemed to wake Jason, because he shot up, looking around wildly, before meeting Tim’s confused gaze.

“This is not Stephanie’s house,” Jason said.

Tim shook his head, “No, it’s definitely not.” 

Jason almost,  _ almost,  _ looked embarrassed, and Tim was very resolutely looking at a point above Jason’s head, because he was but a simple man, and  _ damn _ was Jason built.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Tim said, turning around to give Jason some semblance of privacy. He wandered back into his room, wondering if any of his clothes would fit the larger man. He grabbed his sweatpants, because they were comfortable and loose and an old tank top, before swinging by the kitchen to pour another cup of tea. 

Jason was sitting exactly where Tim had left him when he got back.

“Here,” he shoved the pile of clothes and mug towards Jason, before turning back around to let him change. 

There was a rustle of clothes, and then Jason muttered, “Thanks,” so Tim risked turning back around. The sweats fit, though they stopped an inch above Jason’s ankle, and the tank definitely left nothing to the imagination.

They both stood there for several moments, clutching their mugs, the silence deafening. 

“Sorry,” Jason muttered, more into his tea than at Tim, but that was just semantics he supposed.

“Any reason, you were naked...and passed out?”

“Guess I, uh, hit the cups a little hard last night,” Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. Tim got distracted staring at the way Jason’s bicep bulged, but he still noticed the way it was phrased more as a question than a statement.

“ _ Oh _ , uh, happens to the best of us,” Tim replied when he realized Jason was waiting for Tim to say something. Then he stepped aside and gestured behind him to the kitchen, “Breakfast?” he offered, even though he was a piss-poor cook at best. He figured he could whip together some passable eggs and toast, maybe brew some more tea.

“Are you sure?” Jason was no longer the gruff, uninterested man he had been the day before. He was softer, somehow, and pink still dusted his nose in embarrassment.

“Yeah,” Tim said with a small smile, gesturing him inside, “I make a mean egg.”

.

It turns out that Tim did not, in fact, make a mean egg. Jason took over as soon as Tim’s attempt to crack the egg ended up with more smashed and gooey egg on the counter than in the bowl.

Tim protested, but Jason just waved at him to sit down at the counter.

“S’ the least I could do, since I  _ was  _ passed out on your porch and all.”

And Tim still had question about that, like, how did Jason make it all the way to his cabin, or, where the fuck did his clothes go. Instead, he asked if there were wolves in Colorado.

Jason stilled, back going taut and eyes watching the eggs very intently, before replying in a purposefully light voice, “No, there haven’t been wolves here for sometime.”

“Huh,” Tim mused.

“Why?” Jason’s back was still stuff as he carefully flipped the frying eggs over.

“Just thought I heard some howling from the woods last night.”

“It was probably just the wind,” Jason told him, “it tends to roar through the trees and echo against the mountains.”

And Tim couldn’t really argue with that, because he was a city boy, born and raised, and the mountains and outdoors in general were a mystery to him.

They ate breakfast together, Jason’s eyes intent on Tim as they talked about nothing at all--it was comfortable, their conversation flowing naturally, as if they hadn’t been strangers a day ago. Tim didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Stephanie came barging through the front door without knocking.

She froze in the doorway, and Tim was suddenly hyper aware of Jason sitting at the counter, mug of half-empty tea clutched in his hands, and Tim’s sweatpants riding low on his hips. It looked very much like a genial morning after, but before Tim could open his mouth to clarify, Steph snorted and rolled her eyes at Jason who just shrugged back. 

“I’ll give you a ride home after I drop Tim off at the station.”  
“I can drive myself,” Tim grumbled into his coffee.

“But then we can’t duet Rihanna too loudly in the car,” she replied with a grin, sidling behind him to pour herself a cup of coffee for the road.

“Fair point.”  
“Can I request Shania Twain?” Jason asked, eyes sparkling, and _oh_ Tim really liked that look--wanted Jason to do it more.

“There’s always time for Miss Twain in the morning,” Steph declared, shepherding them out the door, shooting Tim a knowing look over Jason’s broad shoulder. He paused for barely a moment, wondering what he had gotten himself into, if this brilliant and precocious park ranger was shooting him looks as if they had been best friends for years. Tim found that he didn’t really care; he hadn’t had this much fun in years.

Stephanie dropped Tim off first, and as he walked inside and greeted the sheriff, Tim idly wondered if Jason would tell Stephanie why he had been at Tim’s house, wearing his clothes. 

The sheriff had shown Tim to a back room, away from the bustling of the other deputies, and before he left, Tim called his name.

“Murphy, are there wolves in Colorado?”

The sheriff paused, hand on the door handle, his back the same taut that Jason’s had been.

“Of course not, son. There hasn’t been for years.”

Tim shrugged, “Just the wind, I guess,” echoing the excuse Jason had given him.

“Just the wind,” the sheriff agreed, giving Tim a searching look before leaving.

As he laid out his work on  the table in front of him, Tim couldn’t help but think that both Jason and the sheriff had lied to him--and twice was definitely close to a pattern.

.

Tim worked diligently for three days, drowning himself in the case. This is what he was best at, why he spent most of his time traveling across the country. Every evening he made himself a cup of tea and sat on the back porch, puzzling through the case and the evidence and everything that was missing. Every evening,  _ something _ howled in the night, and every evening that something stood closer and closer to the circle of pale light that spilled off the back porch. Huge and black and Tim discovered, on the third night, with a shock of white fur running ragged between its glowing blue eyes.

On the fourth evening, Tim was beyond frustrated. It took all of his willpower to not throw all of the pages of work across the dark back lawn. Antsy and frustrated and needing a distraction, Tim got up and began to pace, hoping some movement would jog a sudden epiphany in his brain. He was halfway across the back lawn, eyes gazing unseeing into the pitch black woods when the first howl rose into the quiet night, much closer than Tim had expected. He froze, stock still more out of curiosity than fear. 

The wolf stepped out of the woods, just like it always did. Huge and majestic and  _ wild _ . Its eyes were electric in the night, and Tim realized as he stood there, not daring to even breath that the wolf hadn’t stopped walking. It was heading right for him.

Conner would certainly yell himself hoarse when he heard about this later. That Tim had been stupid enough to stare down a wolf as tall as him. That he got mauled to death, because he couldn’t just listen to the clear warning that Jason’s taut back and the sheriff’s knowing eyes had told him.

There were no wolves in Colorado.

Tim wasn’t sure what the beast in front of him was, but somehow he wasn’t as afraid as he should have been.

The beast stopped an arm’s length from Tim, gazing at him with those haunting eyes. Leisurely, not breaking eye contact, it lowered its head, and Tim, not quite in control of his own body, slowly, so slowly, raised his arm so that his hand was hovering just above the wolf’s offered head. A beat--and then the beast pressed forward so that Tim’s hand was sinking into plush fur, fingers tangled in that white streak. 

And then, as if the spell had broken a howl rang out from deep in the woods, and the creature in front of Tim was stepping back, regal as ever, before turning and loping back into the woods, letting the darkness swallow it whole.

The next morning Jason was passed out on Tim’s back porch again, naked as the day he was born. Tim let his eyes wander for just a moment, before he kicked the man’s arm. 

“We really have to stop meeting like this,” he told Jason as he threw the same pair of sweats he let him borrow last time on his chest.

Jason didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed this time. Instead, he pulled the pants on and followed Tim back into the house, pressing a warm hand to the small of Tim’s back as he passed him to grab the eggs from the fridge.

Tim shivered, and he could have sworn a smirk crept onto Jason’s face as he cracked the eggs into a pan. Tim just heaved a sigh and made some coffee.

When Stephanie showed up an hour later, she didn’t even look surprised.

.

Later that day, Tim and Steph were barricaded in the back room of the sheriff's building together, taking a break from the mess of papers and evidence that littered the room--that yielded no more answers than they had four days before. 

Stephanie was sprawled across an old couch, a luke warm diet coke clutched loosely in the hand dangling off the couch, when Tim asked her the question.

He watched the way her shoulders tensed, the way she carefully schooled her face into a neutral expression. Tim figured they didn’t get many detectives here asking pointed questions--no one had a very good poker face.

“There aren’t any wolves in Colorado. Google could’ve told you that.”

Tim shrugged, “ “was just wondering.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes and threw a crumpled piece of paper at him, “Quit asking dumb questions about wolves and start asking dumb questions about this apparently unsolvable case.”

“Not unsolvable,” Tim corrected, “just difficult.”

Stephanie heaved a dramatic sigh, but rose from the couch anyway, joining him back at the table, ready to pour over all of it again.

Once was strange, Tim mused, twice was a coincidence, but three times was a pattern, and Tim intended to find out just what exactly they were all hiding. Lord knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with the actual case he was supposed to be solving.

.

When Steph pulled back up to Tim’s cabin, Jason was sitting on the front stoop, his hulking form diminished in the bright afternoon light. Stephanie raised an eyebrow at Tim, but he just waved it away before clambering out of the passenger door. Stephanie snorted and drove away with a pointed spray of gravel.

“Door’s unlocked,” Tim said as he sat on the stoop next to Jason, “you could’ve gone in.”

“Didn’t want to overstep,” Jason replied, looking at Tim with a small smile on his lips. 

Tim opened his mouth to ask why Jason was there, why he kept showing up on Tim’s back porch, why everybody was lying about whatever living in the woods, but Jason had leaned into Tim’s space, head cocked to the side. Tim froze, not sure what was happening but he felt like it was important. When Tim didn’t jerk away, Jason pressed forward, burying his nose in the crook of Tim’s neck, breathing in deeply before dragging his stubbly cheek across Tim’s soft, pale skin. 

They stayed like that for, Tim wasn’t sure how long, until Jason finally pulled away, pupils blown wide and with a content expression on his face. He stood up and without another word, walked down the driveway to the road. 

Tim was confused and half-hard in his jeans and had half a mind to drag Jason back and demand a explanation for what the hell had just happened. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead he walked inside and jerked off in the shower, Jason’s name on his lips as he came.

He realized afterwards, as he methodically washed his hair, that he was totally and royally fucked. 

He also had an inkling of an idea of what had happened to Abigail Graves. It was crazy, but nothing about Tim’s last week in Creede had been normal. He spent the rest of the evening doing research, and for the first time in several days, he wasn’t outside to watch as the beast emerged from the woods to stare at the house. He listened to the howl though, close by, and smiled.

.

Tim surged into the sheriff's building the next day early, too anxious to wait for Stephanie’s usual ride.

“There aren’t wolves in Colorado,” he declared to the room at large. The deputy at the front desk looked at Tim like he had finally cracked. Tim grinned back at him, only slightly crazy.

Sheriff Murphy walked up to him, “No, son, there aren’t,” his hands extended in some aborted attempt at appeasement.

“But,” Tim said, brushing past him, waving a stack of papers in the air, “something clearly took a few bites out of Miss Graves.”

Behind Tim, the sheriff and his deputy shared a look.

Tim forged on, “Something with big teeth and a strong jaw. Abigail had only been dead for three days at most when she was found, yet she had been missing for months. Food was found in her stomach--meat and bread. Not food she could have scavenged for herself. Someone had kept her alive, but who?”

“Tim,” Stephanie said, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder, “what are you talking about?”

“There aren’t any wolves in Creede, Colorado,” Tim repeated, holding a piece of paper up for them to see, the piercing eyes of a werewolf looked out at all of them. Stephanie froze, grip tight on Tim’s shoulder.

Sheriff Murphy reacted first, laughing, but it was a cold, forced thing, and no one else in the building moved. 

“You reached out to me, specifically, hoping I could solve this, but you knew the whole time I wouldn’t be able to. What normal detective, after all, would suspect a mythical creature as the suspect?” Tim let out a half-crazed laugh.

“Listen son,” the sheriff said, stepping closer. Tim ignored him.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Tim demanded Stephanie instead, looking her in the eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, and then looked away. She didn’t say a word.

“That’s what I thought.”

Tim threw the papers down on the nearest table and walked back out of the building. He drove back to the cabin in a daze. He wasn’t really sure what to do--what to feel. They knew--all of them. They’d known the whole time. The sheriff with his kind words, and Stephanie,  _ Stephanie  _ who had spent hours with him puzzling over the case, trying to piece it together with him, had  _ known _ the whole damn time. 

And Jason--

Tim couldn’t think about Jason.

He got in bed. He fell asleep, and in his dreams, he was in the woods, running for his life in the pitch black while all around him, wolves  _ howled.  _

.

He woke up that evening to actual howling, much closer than usual. He stumbled through the darkness of the cabin, rubbing sleep from his eyes, onto the back porch. There, in the puddle of faint light that the porch cast, was the beast, its blue eyes shining. They stared each other down. But Tim couldn’t take it anymore, and he sank down onto the porch steps, tired of all of it.

“Jason,” he said quietly, and the wolf padded towards him, head cocked to the side, regarding Tim’s small form.

“It wasn’t you,” Tim half pleaded, “Please tell me it wasn’t you.”

The wolf huffed a gust of warm air into his face, before rubbing up against him. Tim let out a startled laugh, before reaching a hand up to tangle in Jason’s scruff. His fur was thick and impossibly soft, and Tim thought he might still be dreaming. They stayed like that for a long time, beast and man tangled together in the darkness.

Finally, Jason stood up and climbed the steps, pushing inside the cabin. When Tim finally got up to follow him inside, Jason was sitting at the counter, with just Tim’s sweatpants on, a glass of water clutched between his hands.

“It wasn’t me,” Jason clarified, but Tim had already known that, “It was a rogue that had slipped past the pack. Had kidnapped Abigail as a human and shifted to kill her, weeks later. By the time we tracked him down, it was too late.” Jason’s face had screwed up in disgust and guilt. Tim reached out, brushed a thumb along Jason’s cheek, trying to rub the pain away.

“But then, why call me in?” Tim asked.

“I may have gone a little overboard with him when we found him,” Jason admitted, “Couldn’t exactly turn in an equally mauled body and hope another investigation wouldn't be mounted. Figured if we called in a detective as good as you, and you couldn’t solve the case, it would just fall into obscurity, and we could all move on.”

“Does her family know?  
Jason nodded: “They’ve been coming her for years. They knew something wasn’t quite right with our little town.” Jason’s smile was bitter and rueful. He looked at Tim then, eyes searching, “How’d you figure it out?”

Tim look back at Jason, incredulous, “Oh, I don’t know, perhaps a giant fucking wolf kept turning up in my backyard each night and then a naked man showed up on my porch each morning. I put two and two together and got werewolf.”

Jason snorted.

_ Why  _ Tim wanted to asked  _ Why did you keep showing up? _

Instead, Tim pulled Jason away from the counter, towards his bedroom. They paused in the doorway, Tim looking up into Jason’s impossibly blue eyes and slowly, deliberately, he leaned his head to the side, exposing his neck. Jason’s pupils blew wide, but he didn’t move yet, instead looked down at Tim with a question in his eyes.

“I did my research,” Tim told Jason, and that’s all the invitation he needed.

He leaned in, breathing deep, and nosed his way down Tim’s neck. Right at his collarbone, Jason paused, working at the delicate skin there, teeth leaving a dark bruise. Jason pulled back, pulling his stubble against Tim’s neck again, and Tim let his head fall back with a moan. 

“Is that a werewolf thing or a Jason thing?” Tim asked, and Jason just answered by laughing into Tim’s mouth while he kissed him.

.

The next morning, Stephanie didn’t seem surprised to see Jason cooking breakfast when she barged into the cabin. She wrinkled her nose.

“It smells in here,” she informed them, taking a seat next to Tim at the counter.

“Fuck off,” Jason said jovially, flipping a pancake.

Tim raised an eyebrow at her, “Just how many werewolves are in this town?” 

“You’d be surprised,” she replied, “there’s safety in packs after all.”

.

Tim called Conner a week later to tell his old partner that he was moving to Colorado.

“Turns out the fresh air was better for me than I thought,” he said on the phone with a sad laugh.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Conner asked.

“I can still work from here. It’s not like my job is in an office building.” Tim could feel Conner roll his eyes, even from this far away.

“Who is she?” Conner asked..

“It’s a he, actually,” Tim replied, “and his name’s Jason. He has a lot of muscles. He’s,” Tim paused, trying to find the words to describe Jason. He settled on nice, because he found that he couldn’t pick just one.

“We’ll see about that, when I come visit,” Conner said, but he paused and added, “I’m happy for you Tim, really. Call me if you ever need anything.”

“Of course.”

Tim hung up. He had several old books spread out before him, and his laptop. He had been doing a lot of research this past week. With the existence of the supernatural suddenly confirmed for him, Tim’s detective skills had suddenly found a whole new outlet, and he was eager to stretch his proverbial wings. 

Stephanie, because she thought she was a comedy genius, had made a sign that said “Supernatural Detective Agency” and hung it on the back porch, and Tim didn’t quite have the heart to take it down. 

Jason came up behind Tim, wrapping his arms around his waist and hooking his chin over Tim’s shoulder. 

“You’ve been at it all day,” Jason whined.

“I have a big learning curve,” Tim reminded him, “Not all of us are born into a furry little werewolf family.”

Jason poked him in the side, but Tim was more distracted by the way he slowly dragged his stubble across the now permanent bruise above his collarbone. 

“I guess I can take a break,” Tim mused, and Jason grinned a wolf’s smile against Tim’s neck, gently pushing him towards the old, leather couch.


	2. the kind of eyes that drive wolves mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Believe it or not Timmy, werewolves aren’t the scariest things in these woods. Never get too comfortable.”

_ there’s a million, billion, trillion stars but i'm down here low  
fussin’ over scars on my soul _

* * *

 

Behind the clouds, the moon hung heavy and bloated in the night sky, and in the forest below, a beast larger than any wolf moved silently through the underbrush. Eyes gleamed red in the darkness, intent on the glow of firelight in the forest clearing up ahead. 

A large tent had been pitched, food and debris strewn about as the four teens gathered around the fire sang campfire songs offkey, glasses of murky liquid clutched tight in their hands. They were drunk and reassured by the warmth and safety of the fire.

The beast stalked closer, teeth bared silently. Ribs pressed against it matted, tawny fur, and madness glinted in the crimson of its eyes. None of the teens noticed the wolf crouched at the edge of the firelight until it already had its jaws clamped tight around the closest girl’s throat, blood seeping thick between its fang. A boy screamed, and the beast killed him next. 

.

Tim stood at the edge of the clearing, fighting to keep down the curry he had eaten for lunch. Jason and Steph had stopped almost a mile back, looks of disgust and something else Tim couldn’t quite touch on blatant on their faces. Tim had pressed forward with Sheriff Murphy, because he was experienced, had seen the worst of the worst when had still worked in the city.

Or at least, he thought he had.

Gore coated the circle of grass around the dead fire, blood spattered up the side of the tent that hadn’t been slept in. Empty glasses that Tim was sure had once been full of alcohol were strewn about, as were bits of the local teens who had been camping in the small clearing, far too deep in the woods for anyone to hear their screams.

The sheriff’s deputies were already there, wrapping the scene in crime tape, though no one in their right mind would venture this deep into the woods to mess with the crime scene. What was left of the bodies had been outlined on the ground. The torso of a girl, her throat ripped out lay next to the fire, arms akimbo. Across from the fire lay a boy, large chunks of flesh missing from his stomach and thighs. He stared up at the Colorado sun between the trees, eyes glassy and bloodshot--unseeing. Another boy was at the far edge of the clearing, as if he had tried to run. His legs were gone, and it looked as if he had died due to blood loss and shock. 

Tim thought he may actually lose the battle with his stomach. 

A warm, broad hand pressed against the middle of his back, grounding him. Tim looked up at Jason, whose face was still screwed up in disgust, but he had managed to make it to the edge of the clearing. Stephanie was behind him, eyes staring resolutely up into the trees.

The sheriff was standing next to the first girl’s body, talking quietly with a deputy. Jason cocked his head to the side, listening. Tim was still puzzling over the crime scene before him, something felt off, but  he couldn’t quite place it. The bodies had been identified quickly; there were only so many teens in Creede to pick from after all. Jason and Stephanie had already realized it--that’s why they had stopped so far back. And when Tim finally understood, he fell back against Jason’s chest, the wind knocked out of him. Jason’s hold on him tightened, and Tim knew, suddenly, why Steph was glaring at the sky, why Jason was poised to run.

Tim said it outloud, voice croaking, but still loud enough to stop the sheriff and deputies in their tracks.

“There was another girl.”

Sheriff Murphy turned to Tim, eyes wide, “Are you sure?”

Tim nodded, attempting to walk forward, but Jason’s clutch on his arm jerked him back. Gently, Tim turned in Jason’s arms and looked up into his eyes, blue and bleeding electric at the edges. For Jason, who spent his time protecting their small town from both humans and the things that went bump in the night, the fact that a rogue wolf had somehow slipped passed his pack and murdered three teenagers and kidnapped the fourth was setting off every werewolf instinct he had. And his first one was to protect his pack--to protect Tim.  But the girl was still alive, something in Tim told him that she was, and now wasn’t the time to let Jason’s animal instincts keep him from doing his job. 

This felt all too similar to the case that had brought Tim to Creede in the first place, a year ago. Placing his hand over Jason’s, Tim carefully met his eyes and leaned his head to the side, exposing his throat. Jason rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, nosed along  Tim’s jaw and took a shuddering breath before slowly releasing his grip.

Tim walked across the clearing to the sheriff, feeling Jason’s eyes heavy on his back the whole time.

“I could’ve just walked over to you,” Murphy said, bemused. 

Tim just shrugged back, conveying a  _ werewolves, what can you do?  _ and the sheriff just rolled his eyes back.

“I’m sure Jay and Steph could track them,” he mused, walking towards the far edge of the clearing, where the boy who had tried to run lay. Except, maybe he hadn’t tried to run  _ away _ , but rather towards the werewolf--towards the girl clutched helpless in his grip.

“Are we sure that’s safe?”

Tim looked over at Murphy, who was gazing into the darkness of the forest, worry creasing his brow.

“She’s alive. What else can we do?”

Murphy nodded once, “You’ll have to discuss it with the whole pack.”

“I know.” Jason was still poised at the edge of the clearing, no doubt ready to shed his clothes to shift and race through the trees, after the wolf that had breached his territory and killed his own, but Tim wasn’t going to let him do that. 

Last time Jason had run off and murdered a rogue wolf, Creede had to scramble to cover it up.Tim wasn’t going to let that happen again. Besides, this was a more delicate situation; with the girl still alive, they needed enough people to both take down the rogue and save her. They needed the pack.

.

The sign Steph had made, almost a year ago now, still hung on the back porch, its letters a little faded, the wood a little worn. Steph was curled up in a chair, picking at her nails when Tim pressed a warm mug of coffee into her hands.

“Thanks,” she murmured, voice rough.

By the time they had gotten back to the house, Jason had looked ready to vibrate out of his skin and had barely listened to Tim’s warning about galloping off into the woods and threatening the rogue wolf into killing the girl before he was stripping down in the living room and leaping off the black porch.

Steph and Tim had watched the giant black wolf go tearing off into the woods. Tim knew Jason just needed to let the wolf take over for a while, to succumb to his instinct and equalize. It didn’t mean he couldn’t still worry. 

“He’ll be fine,” Steph reassured him after a long gulp from her mug. Tim sat down with his own coffee held tight in his hand.

“He just needs to go  be dramatic for a while.”

Tim snorted, and she grinned back at him, weariness hanging in the corners of her lips.

The rest of the pack would gather there soon; Tim’s cabin had become the unofficial meeting spot for Jason’s ragtag pack.

Back, before they had met, Creede had been home to one of the most powerful packs on the west side of the States, but that was before--everything.

Jason had told it all to him in bits and pieces, and Steph had filled in the gaps whenever Jason couldn’t quite bring himself to.

Jason had been bitten, back when he was young and scared and on his own, by an alpha, who, though not one for many words, had been a father to Jason in a way his real parents had never been. Dick had already been there, of course, bright and warm, but going through growing pains, chafing against the restraints of small town life. Jason had loved Dick like a brother, wanted to be him more than anything, but Dick left, and Jason got used to disappointment. 

When Jason mentioned Barbara, it was brief, but there was always a wry twist to his lips that told Tim the kind of person Barbara was--the kind that even Jason, harboring a chip on his shoulder the size of a mountain, couldn't hate.

Steph had come after Jason; Bruce’s attempt to fill an emptying nest, she had mused once to Tim, sitting on the back porch watching the sun set over the trees. 

Others tiptoed in and out of Creede, Cass and Duke and Selina, and Jason felt the world calling to him so many times. And everytime it got harder and harder to stay, but Creede was his home and as others came and went, he knew that someone had to stay, had to protect their home. Jason was nothing if not loyal. 

After a while, Steph had left to: one to many yelling matches with Bruce. She had gone out and drunk her fill of the world, and then, unlike the others, when she came back, she decided to  _ stay _ . 

Bruce never went far. He was the Alpha, this was his pack, and he had territory to watch over. Sure, he wandered, slipping in and out of cities, helping where he could; he did it under the guise of expanding his territory to keep the pack strays safe, but Jason knew Bruce chafed just as much as the rest of them.

It was Damian who finally got Bruce to uproot. The boy was half-feral and dangerous, but he was  _ pack  _ and he smelled like Bruce in a way that the rest of them didn’t, so he made the executive decision to set-up a new camp in Denver. Damian went with him, and Dick was never really that far behind. Cass drifted there eventually. Babs visited sometimes, more for Dick than anyone else.

And that just left Jason, who refused to abandon Creede and Stephanie, who refused to abandon Jason. 

Over the years, they had picked up a few strays of their own.

.

Kori strolled in first, with pizza, and planted a warm kiss on Tim’s cheek before curling up around Steph in her chair. Roy wasn’t far behind, with donuts, and he plopped on the ground, leaning up against the chair the two girls shared.

Kate came last, red hair fiery in the late afternoon light, and pulled up her own chair, but not before brushing a lingering hand through Tim’s hair.

Tim had gotten used to the pack’s touchiness months ago, it was nice--reassuring--and though he didn’t really  _ get  _ scent-marking, he could at least appreciate the sentiment. Jason finally trotted back out of the woods, seeming less restless. He stopped by Tim on his way back into the house, electric eyes boring into him. Tim buried a hand in his thick fur, trying to ground them both, because Roy may be grinning up at Steph and Kori, pizza dangling from his hands, and Kate may look like her normal devil-may-care self, but they were all badly shaken. 

Jason continued into the house, coming back out moments later, fully clothed, to curl around Tim on the small loveseat. He nuzzled into the crook of Tim’s neck, waiting until the both of them were breathing in unison. Eventually, Tim pulled away from Jason to snag them both donuts, and that seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the porch.

Kate leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees, eyes intent on Jason.

“It’s an alpha, isn’t it?” she asked.

Kori sucked in a breath. It was one thing to deal with the occasional rogue wolf--one who couldn’t manage to find a pack. They were usually half-feral and weak, easy enough to pick-off. But an alpha on its own? That meant the beast had lost  _ its  _ pack, and that only ever lead to madness.

Jason nodded. 

This was different than anything they had ever faced. Bruce hadn’t been back to the Creede territory since before Tim had met Jason, and other wolves could sense when an alpha was away--when an alpha had abandoned its territory. It didn’t matter that Jason and his pack were still there--they were all betas, easy enough to subdue if an alpha was strong enough. 

Jason had the option, once upon a time, to become alpha--to take that from Bruce. Steph had told Tim, one evening, that she had thought Jason might just do it. But instead, he had bared his neck--submitted--and Bruce had left. That was almost worse, Tim thought.

“So, what now?” Roy asked.

Jason looked down at Tim.

“The sheriff wants the pack to work with his deputies, track down the rogue alpha, and recover the girl. But, it has to remain an official investigation,” he supplied.

“Sounds reasonable,” Kori said in between bites of pizza.

“How did a packless alpha get this close?” Kate’s voice was hard.

Jason met her gaze, stared her down, and then sighed, sagging back against the loveseat, “I don’t know.”

“We going out tonight?” Roy asked.

Jason nodded, “Sheriff’s already getting his men ready. I’ll run point. Steph and Roy stay with the cops, their visibility will be lower. Kate and Kori will cover me.”

It was a set-up Tim had seen them run many times before. Steph and Roy as both human and wolf were friendly and reassuring, much more likely to remember that the all-too-human cops had limitations. Kate and Kori cared, in their own way, but the two of them were fast and just a little bit vicious, and Tim was glad they would have Jason’s back. 

“They’ll be meeting us here around sunset,” Tim said.

“Well, no use stressin’ out,” Steph said, clapping her hands together. The sound echoed off the porch and against the wall of trees. 

“Yeah,” Roy agreed, holding up the box of still warm pizza, “Dig in. We have a long night ahead of us.”

Jason was still mostly wrapped around Tim, wound up and taut, so Tim leaned forward and snatched two slices for them. The porch was quiet for the next two hours. Kate sat in her chair, back straight, half-eaten donut sitting on her knee as she stared angrily into the forest. Tim almost thought she hadn’t blinked once since she had taken up her vigil. Steph and Roy had switched at some point, and now Roy and Kori were twined together in the chair, with Steph sprawled on the ground, head propped on a stray pillow.

Tim had dozed off, cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of Jason’s chest, when the sound of tires on gravel woke him. 

The other four were already up, standing at the edge of the porch’s light, no doubt waiting for Jason, who was staring down at Tim, something unreadable in his eyes.

“Hey babe,” Tim murmured sleepily, reaching up to cup a hand on his jaw. Jason kissed him, gentle and chaste. With a roll of his eyes, Tim deepend it for just a moment, nipping at Jason’s lower lip, before pulling back.

“None of that,” he scolded, “You’ll be just fine. Go out there, save that girl, and I’ll have some warm tea waiting when you get home. Okay?”

Jason nuzzled into Tim’s neck for a second, “Okay,” he whispered against Tim’s skin. 

Jason and his pack went to the edge of the forest, changing out of their clothes so they could shift, and the sheriff and his deputies followed close behind. As they disappeared into the gloom, Roy and Steph subtly shepherding the humans in the right direction, Tim resolutely didn’t think of all the things that could go wrong. Instead he went inside, hoping to find something to distract him for the next couple of hours. 

Instead, he found a man sitting at his counter, shoveling the leftover curry from lunch into his mouth like a dying man.

.

If Tim didn’t know better, he would have guessed that Jason and Dick were biological brothers. They both had those startling blue eyes and self-assured smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. 

“Curry’s good,” Dick said around a mouthful of chicken. 

“Thanks.” Tim moved around the man to put the empty pizza and donut boxes in the trash. He made sure not to show his back--it was a new habit, but one he learned was vital. 

“Who’s hiding in the forest that’s got everyone spooked?” Dick asked, still smiling. 

“Why’re you here?” Tim replied instead of answering Dick’s question. Tim may have never met the guy before, but based on the stories, he wasn’t so fond of Jason and Steph’s estranged pack. 

Dick shrugged, “What, a guy can’t visit home?”

“This isn’t your home,” Tim said, voice cold.

“Actually,” Dick said, getting up to put his bowl in the sink, “you’re technically renting this cabin from me.”

“Oh,” Tim didn’t really have an answer to that. His rent check always went to Stephanie, and he had never really questioned it. Mostly because there was always something a little more pressing to question instead. 

Dick moved into the living room, hand traveling along the worn leather of the couch Tim had never quite brought himself to replace, eyes lingering on the picture of Tim, Jason, and Steph on the side table. The three of them had gone camping and gotten  _ way  _ too drunk; Tim’s cheeks were rosy in the picture, and Steph had both her arms slung around Jason and Tim’s shoulders. 

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Jason?”

Dick shot Tim a deprecating look, “I don’t think Jay would be exactly willing, yknow?”

“You’re his brother,” Tim shot back, “You know him better.”

Dick plopped down on the couch and crossed his legs with a grin, “You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Then why are you here?” Tim asked again.

“I was curious, about you, mostly.” Dick laughed at the look on Tim’s face.

“Oh, the rest of us know all about you, even if Jason and Steph don’t talk to us anymore. You don’t think Bruce just leaves Creede completely in the dark, do you?”

“I don’t know Bruce at all,” Tim reminded Dick, the edge still in his voice.

Dick’s head snapped towards the back porch, and a moment later, a distant chorus of howls echoed through the night.

“Sounds like they caught something,” Dick said quietly. He got up and walked towards Tim, hand outstretched.

“It was nice meeting you, Tim. You should stop by the city sometime. I think Bruce would like to meet you.”

“Is that a suggestion or a threat?”

Dick’s smile showed all of his teeth, “We don’t threaten in our pack. It’s uncivil.”

“Since when did werewolves care about civility,” Tim muttered, shaking Dick’s outstretched hand.

Dick let out a bark of surprised laughter, “I see why Jason likes you. You got some bite.”

He slipped out the front door and disappeared into the night. Tim stood in the living room, frozen, until he heard the shouts of men and barks and yips of the pack returning. He rushed out back to see them emerge from the forest. An unconscious man, wrapped in a sheet, was being dragged along by a few of the deputies, and sandwiched between the sheriff and Steph was the girl. She was coated in dried blood and dirt, with terror bright in her eyes, but she was alive and safe now. The sheriff had a guiding hand on one of her elbows and her other hand was buried deep in Steph’s fur. 

Roy was trotting along beside the unconscious body of the rogue alpha with a slight limp, blood matted in the fur of his shoulder. Jason and the other girls still hadn’t cleared the woods, so Tim stood on the back porch and watched as the sheriff wrapped a shock blanket around the girl and gently pushed her into his cruiser. Steph hoped in after, curling up with her head in the girl’s lap. Tim knew Steph would be there all night, a steady source of comfort for the girl, and Tim was glad he had stashed some extra clothes for her at the station months ago. 

Finally, the other three came bounding out of the woods. Jason had dried blood around his muzzle and Kate had a shallow cut along her flank, but besides that they looked fine. Tim released the breath he had been holding. 

The pack trotted up to Tim on the porch, sniffing at him and letting him run his hands over them in return. They headed inside, shifting as they went. Boundaries had broken down pretty much instantly once Jason and Tim had started dating, and Tim was more than used to gorgeous superhumans walking around his house naked. Tim got the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink and passed it to Kori, who had changed into a pair of Tim’s sweats and one of the shirts Roy had left in the guest bedroom. Roy had managed to pull on a pair of boxers before face planting into the couch. Usually, werewolves healed supernaturally fast, but wounds inflicted by alphas could take much longer to heal. Kori began to clean out the bite wound, while Roy muttered dire words about the rogue alpha into the couch cushions. 

Kate, still naked and confident, despite the shallow gash in her side, disappeared into the bathroom, and moments later the shower turned on. Tim knew that if she needed help or her injury was really bothering her, she would ask. 

Tim didn’t realize he had been hovering between the kitchen and the living room until Jason came up behind him and hooked his chin over Tim’s shoulder. 

“You have dried blood on your face,” Tim told him, but Jason just nosed at Tim’s neck.

“Why does it smell like my brother?” Jason’s voice was quiet, but Roy and Kori stilled in the living room and in the bathroom the shower cut-off.

“Dick ate my curry,” Tim said in lieu of an answer, and Roy snorted at that.

Jason’s arms were still wrapped around Tim’s waist, but he was stiff now, on guard.

“I don’t really know why he was here,” Tim said, “He just said he wanted to meet me--” Tim paused, “He said I should come to the city to meet Bruce.”

Jason recoiled and Kori growled from where she had manoeuvred herself onto the couch, Roy’s head cushioned in her lap. 

“No.” Jason’s voice was firm and controlling, something Tim never heard from him before. He rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

“Yes, because I was just going to up and move to the city, because your estranged brother broke into my house and ate my curry.”

“Technically, it  _ is  _ Dick’s house,” Kate said, coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

“Yeah, thanks for telling me about that by the way,” Tim said to the room at large. 

“He doesn’t live here. It didn’t  _ matter _ .”

Jason was in full pout-mode, so Tim just rolled his eyes at the others and tugged Jason towards the bedroom.

“Okay, Grumpy Wolf, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Tim had done this countless times over the past year: stripped Jason down and pulled him into the shower. Sometimes after a hunt, Jason vibrates with something carnal, and Tim is more than happy to let Jason pull him under the burning shower spray and push him up against the cool tile. But, other times, Jason seems lost in his own head, as if he left something out in the forest with the wolf, so Tim has to remind him that he’s  _ here  _ and  _ real _ .

Tim wiped the flaking blood from Jason’s face with a washcloth, and idly wondered if Jason could smell his brother on Tim’s hand, if the smell of that handshake lingered heavy like a brewing storm.

.

The next few days are a blur of interviews and late nights and everyone wondering what exactly they were going to do with the rogue alpha. As an official police investigation, Jason could’t exactly slip into his cell and slit his throat. Steph and Murphy were debating their options for what felt like the hundredth time when the little bell on the office door chimed. Tim wasn’t facing that direction, but he did see the way Stephanie went deathly still and the Sheriff sat up straighter. 

The whole office was silent, in a way it never was. Murphy stood up and tipped his hat.

“Hello, Mr. Wayne.”

Standing in a halo of late afternoon sunlight, all broad shoulders and impassively sharp cheekbones was Bruce Wayne.

_ I won’t have to take that trip to the city now,  _ Tim though a little hysterically. He wondered if Jason knew Bruce was here, if the whole pack was seconds away from converging on the small police station. Bruce’s gaze slid over Murphy and landed on Tim, a considering look in his dark eyes. 

“I’m here to handle your alpha situation.” Bruce’s voice was gravelly.

“Oh, of course,” and just like that the station was bustling with activity again, Murphy ushering Bruce towards the cells, where the werewolf was kept sedated with wolfsbane. Bruce passed right by Tim and Stephanie, who was frozen in her chair hands grasping the armrests, knuckles white. Her eyes looked close to shifting and Tim heard a subvocal growl as Bruce passed behind them. 

Once he was out of sight, Steph was bolting out the door, Tim rushing to keep up with her.

.

“He’s  _ where? _ ” Jason’s voice was more growl than words over the phone, and in the background, his motorcycle roared as he kicked it to life. 

“He said he’s here to take care of our alpha problem.”

“He is our alpha problem,” Jason growled and there was a rush of static-y wind before he hung up.

Tim threw his hands up, “Well, this is just great.” 

Steph rolled her eyes at him, “Honestly, this is probably good for everyone. Jason’s gonna go yell at daddy, Bruce’ll pat him on the head, and Jason will come running back to us, tail wagging.”

Tim wrinkled his nose, “Don’t call Bruce that. Besides, you’re the one that went running out of the police station earlier.”

She shrugged, “I panicked. Happens to the best of us.” Stephanie didn’t quite meet his eyes though as she said it, but Tim didn’t call her bluff.

The two of them were sitting at the only coffee shop in town, The Crescent Moon. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Kori worked as a manager there, and she fed Tim’s caffeine addiction at an extreme discount. She walked up to their table situated by the window, two lattes in hand, hair glowing fiery in the sunlight.

Placing the drinks down in front of them, Kori said, “Jason knows what he’s doing. Plus, Bruce isn’t the enemy; he’s just a kind of shitty dad.”

Tim forgets, with the way Roy and Kori are so wrapped up together, that before he knew Kori, she dated Dick. She’d been tangled up in the Wayne pack drama for  _ years _ , and after she and Dick split, she still stayed loyal to Creede--to  _ Jason _ .

The coffee shop’s front door slammed open and Kate came storming in. Usually when she stopped by the Crescent Moon, Kate spent plenty of time up at the counter flirting with Renee, the barista. But instead of ordering her usual cappuccino, she collapsed in the chair next to Tim and stole his latte, gulping down a sip.

He stole it back with an affronted look and asked, “Have you seen him?”

“At the station.”

“And?” Steph pressed.

“He gave me the famous Bruce stare and nod of acknowledgment, and I gave it right back to him.” She stole Tim’s latte back for another sip, “Jason roared in there as I was leaving.”

“And you didn’t stay?” Kori asked.

“I don’t see any of you there right now,” Kate shot back.

And she had a point. Jason hadn’t seen Bruce for as long as Tim’s been in Creede, 

probably longer.  It was a waiting game now though; most of the town new Bruce was back--someone was bound to come running to them with news. Or Jason would storm in seething with anger and daddy issues; whichever came first

.

Jason didn’t stop by the coffee shop. Instead, Roy came in, face strained and told them that Bruce was already driving back to the city. Apparently, he had dominated the feral alpha so absolutely, the man had come close to pissing himself. While a blow to any wolf’s pride, Tim was sure that had snapped the alpha back to reality--and sanity--enough for the sheriff to deal with him. With his job done, Bruce had let Jason confront him, but apparently he hadn’t given Jason whatever he was looking for, and the beta had gone storming off into the forest. 

With sighs, the rest of the pack pushed away from the table. Tim knew that they would go after Jason, shift and provide comfort the way only a pack can. It was at times like this when Tim  _ almost  _ wished he had the balls to ask for the bite. He could running off into the woods after the rest of them, but he couldn't hear what they hear or smell what they smell. He couldn’t shift into primal form and curl around Jason and  _ just be _ . 

Tim wasn’t sure how long he sat at that table, all alone, his coffee long gone cold. Eventually, he realized it was getting dark, and none of the pack had contacted him. He had driven here with Steph, but her truck wasn’t in the parking lot. It was a cool night with a clear sky, the darkness lit up with stars, and Tim figured he could walk home, clear his head. Tim had never really been afraid of the woods and now that a pack of werewolves spent most of their time in his house, he found his fear tolerance was much higher than most, but once, when he and Jason had been out hiking, deep in the wild’s of the National Forest, Jason had said something that stuck with Tim.

_ “Believe it or not Timmy, werewolves aren’t the scariest things in these woods. Never get too comfortable.” _

Tim walked along the tree line, the town just a smudge of light behind him, and listened to the sounds of the night. An owl hooted softly, deeper in the woods, and a bat swooped by his head. Trees whispered in the night breeze. Normal sounds--soothing noises. 

The owl hooted again, closer, and there was a sound like detris crunching underfoot somewhere in the inky darkness of the forest. Almost two minutes later, the owl hooted again and a twig snapped. The fourth time Tim heard the owl, he realized it sound exactly the same each time, and always seemed to hoot from right off his left shoulder. 

Tim walked faster, eyes trained on the forest. Suddenly, the owl hooted from right in front of him, but this time it sounded almost like a human trying to imitate an owl. Tim looked forward.

Standing several meters in front of him was a man facing the forest. He stood very still, arms held stiffly away from his body, almost as if he was ready to take flight. Tim froze and almost called out to him, but something made the words catch in his throat. The man was wearing hiking clothes, but Tim didn’t recognize him, and in a town as small as Creede, that was strange. 

Tim took a step back, but the gravel shifted under his feet; he froze again. The man cocked his head, as if he heard him, but still didn’t turn to face Tim.

“Do you know which way town is?” the man asked, but he didn’t quite sound right. His voice hoarse and overstretched like he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. 

“Do you know which way town is?” He asked again, when Tim didn’t answer. His voice warbled strangely, going down when it should go up and exaggerating syllables that shouldn’t be exaggerated. He sounded like someone speaking for the first time. 

Tim took another step back. 

The man shuffled sideways, towards Tim. He hooted once. 

“Do you know which way town is?”

Tim didn’t want to run, things tended to give chase when he ran, but he didn’t want to stand still either. 

“I’m not sure where town is,” Tim told the man, his voice more of a squeak than anything else. 

“I’m not sure where town is,” the man parroted back to Tim, stretching his voice, trying to mimic Tim’s. 

He shuffled closer to Tim. He hooted.

“Do you know which way town is? He asked, his voice gravely with misuse.

“I’m not sure where town is,” the man answered himself, voice squeaking in a poor imitation of Tim’s own. 

And then he turned towards Tim, just his face, the rest of his body still angled towards the woods, arms stiffly outstretched.

His face,  _ its face _ , because Tom realized, what he was staring at wasn’t human, was just a blank stretch of flesh. No eyes, no mouth--nothing. He realized he must be staring at something ancient. 

Tim turned tail and sprinted back down the road, towards town. Behind him, heavy, pounding steps echoed down the quiet forest road. The creature was chanting his mocking call-and-answer at Tim, loping after him. Tim turned once, and the creature was right behind him, face smooth and expressionless. When Tim turned back around, their was someone running out of the forest towards him. They collided, strong arms wrapping around Tim, smoothing down his back--it’s Jason, Tim realized. He let out a dry sob against Jason’s chest, burying closer.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Jason murmured into Tim’s hair. Tim took a few shuddering breaths and then pulled back to look behind him. The creature was gone, and the night’s noises were just that--harmless noises. 

The rest of the pack burst out of the woods then, half-shifted and eyes scanning the road. 

They walked him home, everyone on edge, and no one talked until they were safely back inside Tim’s cabin.

They piled Tim onto the couch, Jason pulling him tight against his chest and the rest of the pack cuddling up around them. Kate curled up against Jason’s left side, clutching Tim’s hand between both of hers. Roy and Kori smooshed in on Jason’s otherside. Someone turned on the TV--the Food Network was playing--and for a while they sat in comfortable silence. Tim wasn’t quite in shock, but he figured he had gotten pretty close, and no doubt that had scared all of them. 

The credits were running for a rerun of Cutthroat Kitchen when Tim finally found his voice again; an irrational part of him thought that his voice would come out sounding like that strange squeaking imitation--not quite human. 

“What was that?”

“Did you think every supernatural creature that lurked in those woods was as rakishly good looking as me?” Roy asked, poking Tim in the side. Tim gave Roy a weak smile.

“No, but I figured they would be like vampires or something, not a literal eldritch creature from hell.”

“Noppera-b ō,” Jason said.

“Bless you,” Roy replied, and then yelped when Kori slapped his arm. 

“No, dumbass, that’s the name of the creature. A  noppera-b ō. They’re a Japanese faceless demon. They mimic humans in an effort to lure them into the woods.”

“What was a Japanese demon doing in a Colorado forest?” Tim asked. 

“America is a melting pot of demons and things that go bump in the night,” Kate said, “People immigrate here, they bring their demons and their ghosts and who knows what else.”

Kori nodded in agreement, “I met a German Nachzehrer a couple years back in West Virginia. Said he immigrated here in the 1880s and dug his way back out of the ground in 1902. His skin was kind of grey, but he was an alright guy besides that.”

“Well,” Tim said, “that was  _ really  _ not how I wanted my walk home to go.”

Kate snorted.

Eventually they made their way back to the bedroom, all of them piling into the bed, curling up close to each other. Werewolves’ body temperatures naturally ran hot, so Tim had taken to sleep without a blanket; he usually woke up with a couple of arms and legs flung over him anyway.

.

The pack slipped out in bits and pieces the next morning, Kori leaving last, shooting Tim a meaningful look on her way out.

He gave an exaggerated sigh in return.

Jason was in the kitchen making a veggie-egg scramble and resolutely pretending Tim wasn’t pointedly sitting at the counter, waiting for him to talk.

“Don’t think with all that faceless man business I forgot about Bruce,” Tim said. 

Jason dumped some chopped up bell peppers into the pan to saute with the country potatoes. Tim took a sip of his coffee, and Jason began to scramble the eggs. This wasn’t the first time Tim had to wait out one of Jason’s emotional constipation moments, and Tim was here for the long haul if need be. When Tim finished his coffee, Jason refilled it for him and then leaned against the counter.

“He acted like nothing happened. Like he didn’t force Dick out or like he didn’t practically disown Steph. He acted like he never even  _ left _ .”

Tim wanted to reassure Jason, tell him that Bruce loved him, that Bruce was his  _ father _ , but Tim knew better than most the extents to which parents could disappoint. So he didn’t say anything. 

Jason walked around the counter to Tim, pushing close, bracketing himself with Tim’s legs. Tim tangled his hands behind Jason’s neck and kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“Our heroes always end up disappointing us,” Tim told him, “But, for what it’s worth, Bruce is proud of you. And even if he wasn’t, who cares?”

Tim’s parents had never acknowledged him long enough to be proud of him, but he hadn’t let that stop him. 

Jason pressed their foreheads together, “You’re right. Of course, but--” he couldn’t get the rest out, instead taking a shuddering breath.

“It hurts?”

“Yeah. It hurts.”

Jason finished breakfast, and they ate on the back porch, and if Tim’s gaze lingered on 

the forest, searching for a man without a face, Jason didn’t mention it. 

.

The next day at work, Steph dropped a print-out on Tim’s desk. The title read “Missing Hiker Case Officially Closed.” Below the title was a picture of a man in about his 30s, dressed in hiking clothes. Tim covered the face with his thumb and stared at the man who had been in his nightmare last night. 

The noppera-b ō must have lured him into the woods and stolen his voice and body. The article said that the body had never been found. Distantly, Tim thought, _ that could have been me.  _

The sign still hanging on his back porch flashed into his mind. He supposed “supernatural” wasn’t exactly accurate if he only worked with werewolves; he might need to expand his repertoire, so to speak.

With the feral alpha dealt with, it was a slow day in the station, and Tim spent most of it researching the noppera-b ō and whatever else could be rattling around in the woods. He wanted to be prepared next time. 

Because he was sure there would be a next time. 

.

A week later, Barbara came for lunch. In hindsight, Bruce should have probably sent her back to Creede first instead of Dick; Jason could never hate Babs, after all.

The two of them went out to lunch, and though Tim knew Jason was far from forgiving Bruce and the rest of his old pack, this lunch was at least a step in the right direction. 


	3. even bad wolves can be good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Smells like death.”
> 
> Tim rolled his eyes, “Thanks for that deduction.”  
>  Steph elbowed him, “Like death and something else. Kind of human.”  
>  “What do you mean ‘kind of human’?” Tim asked, “Like werewolf kind of human?”  
>  “No,” Steph mused, stepping away from the body so forensics could wrap it up, “We smell more like dog than human--a very distinct dog. This is definitely human. It’s just...off.”  
>  “That literally helps me not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is starting to turn into a monster of the week kind of situation...and i love it. also huge thank you to all of the amazing comments from all u lovely readers, you make my heart so happy!

_ so sweet, with a mean streak (nearly brought me to my knees) _

 

The body looked like nothing Tim had ever seen--great chunks of flesh had been ripped out of the swollen and decaying flesh. Of all the disturbing information the coroner had relayed to the sheriff’s office--that the victim had been alive when it had happened--only one piece had really stuck with him:

Werewolf bites Tim could deal with--could rationalize--supernatural creatures required a new detective code of conduct afterall, and Tim had relearned it over the months. These bites weren’t a werewolf though; they were human. Which made whoever had done this a cannibal.

None of the pack accompanied him to the crime scene; he had forbidden it, much to Jason’s anger. Tim had left him pacing angrily through the sheriff’s waiting room. They had cased the scene and sent the body off to forensics, and Tim had prayed to whatever gods were out there that the bites weren’t  _ actually  _ human.

Tim was believing in God less and less these days.

A week after the first body had shown up, another appeared. Same MO, same human bites. Steph had gone with him to the crime scene that time and sniffed the body, slightly green in the face.

“Smells like death.”  
Tim rolled his eyes, “Thanks for that deduction.”

Steph elbowed him, “Like death and something else. Kind of human.”  
“What do you mean ‘kind of human’?” Tim asked, “Like werewolf kind of human?”  
“No,” Steph mused, stepping away from the body so forensics could wrap it up, “We smell more like dog than human--a very _distinct_ dog. This is definitely human. It’s just...off.”

“That literally helps me not at all.”  
Steph shrugged again, but she looked spooked, and as Tim knew very well, it was almost impossible to scare her.

When he got home that evening, Jason was already gone, he and the rest of the pack were patrolling double time now. One death had been cause for concern, but two deaths were looking disturbingly like a pattern.

Tim grabbed some leftovers from the fridge, pasta Jason had cooked a couple nights ago, before hell had broken loose yet again; he didn’t bother heating it up. Jason would have mocked him, but he was out searching for a cannibal, so Tim took his cold noodles to the couch and did what he did best--search the internet.

He had something close to a hunch. He started with Wikipedia, because English teachers be damned, it was an actually pretty informative website. There was no way to really test his theory though, and a part of him was nervous to even ask the pack. He wasn’t superstitious, but there was something to be said for the power of a name—even he knew that.

For a week, the town was quiet. The pack was still patrolling overtime and everyone at the sheriff’s station was still on edge, but Creede was accustomed to the strange and unusual; life went on. And then some hikers found another half-eaten body at the edge of the woods, and everyone cracked—just a little. It was the same MO: distinctly human bite marks. The victim was Mark Wilson, a local in his 40s who had worked with lumber his whole life.

“Not exactly a guy any ol’ human just takes out easy-peasy,” Steph had mused after forensics had picked the body up. 

That was three bodies now— same mode of death. It was just a matter of time before the FBI showed up. And Tim hated the FBI. He had worked on a few cases back in the city that the FBI had taken over, and they were always such smug bastards about it.

“I’m going camping,” Tim announced to the Sheriff's office at large.

“Since when do you like camping?” Steph asked. She had a can of Diet Coke in her hand, and she was swirling it around. She had told Tim once that she liked the taste of flat soda, which had just further proved his whole  _ Steph isn’t from Earth  _ theory. 

“I don’t. I just have a theory.”

.

 

“No. No way.”

Jason was pacing the length of the back porch, his brow heavy as a storm cloud.

“Need I remind you that you’re not in charge of me?” Tim was sitting in his favorite chair, feet curled up under him, playacting at nonchalant.

“It isn’t safe,” Jason bit out.

Tim rolled his eyes. Of course camping in the woods where three people had just been killed and cannibalized wasn’t safe--Tim wasn’t an  _ idiot _ . But, this was the only way to prove his theory.

“You can’t stay with me, Jay,” Tim patiently explained, “You reek of apex predator. Have the pack on patrol just out of range. I’ll have my phone and a walkie talkie--and a gun.”

Jason resumed his pacing, his face troubled, but if Tim’s theory was right, then none of the pack could be close if they wanted to lure the killer back out. 

“Fine,” Jason acquiesced, throwing his hands up in defeat. 

Tim smiled softly at him, “Steph’s getting all the gear ready, and she’s gonna meet me at the trailhead in a couple hours.” He tilted his head suggestively, and thank god Jason had such a one-track mind, because the worry slowly melted from his face, replaced with a predatory grin.

“I suppose we do have some alone time,” Jason stalked towards where Tim sat, kneeling in the space between Tim’s spread knees. Tim reached out, fitting a hand along Jason’s jaw, smoothing his thumb across the stubble. There was still worry clouding his gaze.

“I’ll be safe,” Tim said gently, leaning close so his lips brushed against the corner of Jason’s mouth, “you won’t let anything happen to me.” 

Jason nipped at Tim’s lower lip, “Never,” and then he was kissing Tim, rough and possessive, working one hand down to palm at Tim’s crotch. 

Jason’s blowjobs were amazing on a normal day, but he was desperate in the cool shade of that late afternoon, grinning wicked around Tim’s dick as he swallowed every last drop of cum.

.

 

Jason and Tim met Steph at the beginning of the trail the last victim had been found on. The sun hadn’t set yet; Tim still had a few hours to set up camp. The rest of the pack was already out patrolling a perimeter Tim had outlined for them. Close enough that they could get to him if there was trouble, but far enough away that they wouldn’t deter the killer from showing up. Steph handed Tim his pack, a hunting rifle and a handgun. 

“Just in case,” she said with a shrug. She squeezed his shoulder once, something unreadable in her eyes.

When she stepped back, Jason pulled Tim in for one last kiss, bracketing his face carefully in his hands.

“Please be careful.”  
Tim smiled crookedly up at him, “I’m always careful.”

Jason snorted and kissed Tim one more time before stepping back next to Steph. Tim waved at them and took off down the trail, telling himself over and over again to not look back. 

The woods weren’t evil; Tim knew that, but they were alive and teeming with things that didn’t care if Tim lived or died. There were things that he couldn’t see but knew were watching him--things that were ancient, that had been in these woods long before him and would be here long after.

Squirrels chattered back and forth in the trees and birds flew above him. He stepped over a pile of deer droppings. This was the forest: a teeming ecosystem--a careful balance. The woods did not like it when that balance was upset. Or at least, that was part of Tim’s theory. The wild places were slowly shrinking, unable to fight back the tireless progress of man, and Tim couldn’t really fault Mother Nature for using what weapons she had.

There were pieces to this puzzle that Tim was slowly putting together. The last victim had cut down trees for a living. The one before that had been a visiting contracter scoping out land for a large mountain lodge. The first victim had left a blazing bonfire unattended. These choices weren’t accidental on the killer’s part; it was punishment.

Sunlight still filtered through the foliage, but Tim shivered like he had walked right into autumn. He fought hard to not continuously check over his shoulder. Rule one of the forest: if you feel like something is watching you, don’t look back, just keep walking. 

After about 45 minutes, Tim hit the small clearing close to where the last victim had been found. He knew the pack would be running the perimeter several miles off, Jason no doubt ready to come running back at the smallest sign of trouble.

He put his pack down in the middle, but kept the rifle slung over his shoulder. Steph had packed two cameras with night vision capability and motion sensors, so he pulled those out to set up in the trees around the clearing. He set his tent up next. It was just a small one person tent, and he threw his rolled up sleeping bag inside with his pack. All around him the forest was alive with sounds, birds chittering back and forth, rustling leaves, and creaking tree trunks. He walked around the clearing perimeter, gathering some sticks to create a small fire.

The sun was just beginning to set as Tim got the fire lit. He still had cell service out here, and he had sent several reassuring texts to the pack group message that he had in fact  _ not  _ been eaten alive. He knew Jason wouldn’t stop worrying until Tim was back safe with him, but sometimes he forgot that Tim had several years as a detective under his belt. He had been in shootouts and had tracked down his fair share of killers. This may be a different situation, but danger was still danger, and Tim was calm under pressure.

He dragged a log up next to the fire and sat with the rifle leaning against his knee. His pistol was in a holster on his thigh. He sat there staring into the flames as the forest got dark around him. The cameras were hooked up to his phone, which would vibrate if the motion detectors were set off. He balanced his phone on his knee, screen up, so he would notice as soon as it set off.

Two hours into his vigil, the woods went quiet. No crickets, no owls, not even the rustle of branches in the night wind. He shifted the rifle into his hands, head slowly swiveling to scan the trees. His phone buzzed on his knee, the screen lighting up. The camera behind him had detected movement in the silent forest. It buzzed again--now it was the camera to his left.

He gazed into the gloom, trying to see something-- _ anything _ \--in the darkness. Whatever it was, he heard it before he saw it. It sounded at first like someone was whispering, and if it wasn’t for the context, Tim would suspect Roy of playing a prank on him. The whispering was coming from his left, near the trees, but it didn’t sound like it was moving. There were no discernible words, just a constant stream of dry, rasping whispers. Slowly, Tim turned, straining his eyes. He saw the antlers first. Giant and dark in the forest’s shadows, he had almost mistaken them for branches. It could’ve been a stag, but they were a good six feet off the ground.

The whispering got louder.

It, whatever  _ it  _ was, emerged from the forest, lurching closer to the firelight. It seemed impossibly tall and gaunt to the point of emaciation. Its skin was ash gray and the shifting flames made shadows dance in the hollows created by the bones pushing against the rotten skin. Its face was little more than a skull with antlers sprouting from the sides, with sunken eyes and a mouth like a gash in the middle of its face.The earthy, living smell of the forest had been replaced with the stench of decaying flesh. 

Its cracked, gray lips didn’t move, but the whispering grew louder again. Words were discernible now, but it wasn’t any language Tim recognized. One word seemed to be repeated over and over again.

“ _ Màdjà,”  _ the thing gibbered, “ _ Màdjà. _ ”

It took another lurching step forward, seeming to close half the distance to Tim. He panicked, snatching the rifle up and firing a shot straight at its torso. The bullet hit, wrenching it back, but it didn’t leave. He fired twice more, praying the pack was already on its way. The creature let out a wrenching scream and wheeled around, disappearing into the forest. Moments later, Jason broke the treeline, half shifted, Kate right on his heels. Tim realized he hadn’t taken a breath in a while. He gasped in air that tasted like death and pointed in the direction it had disappeared. Jason and Kate went chasing after it.

One of them howled, and Tim heard the others answer from somewhere in the trees. He stood there in front of the fire, rifle clutched in his hands until they returned thirty minutes later. Someone gently pried the gun from his hands; he’s not sure who. Someone else put the fire out. He hoped someone grabbed his bag. All he knew is that Jason scooped him into his arms and began making his way out of the forest.

Tim curled his hand into the loose fabric of Jason’s henley.

“I never should have let you do that,” Jason muttered, gaze scanning the dark trees around them. Tim leaned his head against Jason’s chest.

“I was right.”  
“What?”

“My theory--I was right.”

“You never told any of us your theory, remember? Just said you had to go camp alone in the woods with a gun.”

“It was a wendigo.”

Jason stopped walking and looked down at Tim curled up in his arms.

“A wendigo?” Jason sounded slightly hysterical. Tim felt  _ very  _ hysterical, so that was probably the right response. He nodded.

“What’s one doing this far south?”

Tim shrugged. He had never really met a cannibalistic, evil spirit of the wild before. 

Jason resumed walking, and Tim was vaguely aware that the rest of the pack had joined them, falling in formation around Jason.

He remembers seeing Steph’s truck parked by the road, before he falls asleep in Jason’s arms.

.

Music is playing faintly from another room when Tim wakes up; the strains of an old Don McLean song mixing with the baritone of Jason’s voice as he sang along. Tim was in bed, a worn afghan tucked around his body, and he could smell fresh coffee brewing. 

He sat up slowly, grabbing his phone from where it was plugged in on the bedside table. It was late morning, the day after his stint in the woods. Tim wondered if the others had called it into the station. They would need to issue a camping ban until they could figure something out. The sheriff would probably say some mountain lions had moved in close to town and warn people not to be out in the woods after dark. 

“You’re up,” Jason bumped the bedroom door open with his hip, a cup of coffee and plate piled with eggs balanced in his grip. 

Tim ran a hand through his bedhead, “Yeah, don’t really want to be though.”

Jason passed him the coffee, which he took gratefully.

“I still don’t think what you did was very smart,” he said, carefully climbing into bed next to Tim. 

Tim shrugged, “It answered the question of what was out there, didn’t it?”

Jason gave him a sidelong look and passed him the plate of eggs. 

“You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. 

They sat in silence for awhile, Jason watching Tim eat his eggs, the worry not completely hidden on his face. 

.

There’s really only one main street in town, and it’s lined with shops selling hiking gear and tourist knick-knacks. There was one grocery store in town, right in the middle of the street, and at the very end stood the sheriff’s office. There were some houses as well, but most of Creede’s residents lived in clusters of cabins tucked back into woods—that was part of the charm of living sequestered up in the mountains. 

Usually, this meant peace. It meant people could sit on their back porch in the misty twilight and enjoy a beer while listening to the muffled evening sounds of the forest, but lately the forest hadn’t been making their simple way of living so easy.

On his way to the office, Tim dropped by the coffee shop. It was tucked between a shop selling hiking gear and out of season skis and a small novelty shop with a window crowded full of taxidermy animals and souvenirs mugs. Kori was behind the cash register taking a customer’s order, but her eyes flash up when Tim walks in. The customer is still chattering away, and Tim sidles up behind her. It’s Tammy, who Jason is convinced murdered her husband and used his money to move to Creede with her longtime girlfriend Dorothy. And honestly, Tim thinks the theory has some merit.

He caught the tale end of what Tammy’s telling Kori. 

“It was our normal evening routine, you know? Dorothy had poured us both some whiskey. The sun had just set and you know how we love watching the bats swoop out of that box Roy helped us hang up.”

Kori nodded, pouring coffee into a to-go cup for her. 

“We’re just sitting there right, and the bats never come, and Dorothy turns to me like ‘isn’t it awful quiet?’ And it was!”

Tammy talks with her hands, flourishing like she’s conducting an orchestra, not gossiping in a small town coffee shop. He and Kori both perk up at this last part though.

“And get this,” Tammy leans across the counter, a conspiratorial look dancing across her face, “I thought someone was out there, just past the tree line. There was this whispering, couldn’t quite make it out, but it gave me the heebie jeebies, you know?”

Tammy, normally, a loud, gossipy middle aged woman--the kind of person who knew everyone’s business because she traded baked goods for secrets--looked deeply unnerved. 

Kori pushed her coffee across the counter, with three creamers and tons of sugar, just how Tammy liked it.

“Anyway, you have a good day. Give Roy those muffins for me.” 

She was smiling again, and she patted Tim on the shoulder as she brushed past. He walked up to the counter, mind whirling, not noticing the coffee thrust into his hands until he’s already three sips in and Kori’s waving her tan hand in front of his face. 

“Earth to Tim,” Kori’s green eyes are soft with worry as she motions behind him, “There’s a line.”

He finally tunes back into reality, realizing several people have been waiting patiently behind him. 

“Right, sorry, I’m--I’m just going to go…” he points over his shoulder as he trails off, turning to hurry out the door.

No doubt Kori’s already texted the whole pack that he’s had another psychotic break, but Tim doesn’t care. He walks down the street towards the station with purpose, nursing his coffee. Steph greets him as he’s pushing the door open, her eyes soft with the same worry as Kori.

“Kori texted; said you had a moment at the coffee shop?”

Tim motioned her towards his desk. She perched on top and stole his coffee to take a sip. Even though he always ordered the same black coffee, she always scrunched her nose up in disgust at the bitter taste. He stole it back and sat down heavily in his desk chair.

“Ms Tammy was in front of me at the coffee shop,” Tim began.

Steph arched an eyebrow, “While Tammy’s gossiping is certainly cause for concern; she’s mostly harmless.”

Tim waved a hand, “No, not that, she was talking about something weird that happened

in the woods behind her house last night. She said it got real quiet, and she heard an unintelligible whispering.”

Steph’s gaze grew serious, “You don’t think?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s worth looking into.”

She nodded and hopped off Tim’s desk to go talk to the Sheriff. Tim was in the same spot several hours later when Kate came in to talk to him, albeit there were two more empty coffee cups on his desk and a ridiculous amount of internet tabs open to occult websites. Kate ruffled his hair, and while he was distracted took the opportunity to snap his laptop shut. 

“I’m working,” he protested, swiveling to glare at her.

“You’re always working,” she countered, dragging his rolling desk chair across the room.

Other officers looked on, but Kate Kane had a Reputation, and no one dared intervene.

“I’ve decided you need some time off. We’re taking a slight road trip.”

Tim mouthed ‘Help’ at Steph where she was leaning against the sheriff's door, but she just wiggled her fingers at him with a grin. 

“And no texting Jason either. This is an intervention for you both.”

“What?” Tim yelped.

“Don’t worry, Roy’s got Lover Boy handled.”

Kate manhandled Tim into her Jeep. There were two packed duffle bags in the back seat and two condensation-coated iced coffees in the cup holders. Tim tried to ask where they were going, but she just tapped the side of her nose with a wink and peeled out of the parking lot. The Indigo Girls played quietly over the radio, and for a while they drove in silence. Trees flashed by, greens and browns blurring together as Kate made her way out of the mountains. They were heading towards Denver, but Kate still hadn’t revealed their final destination.

She reached over to place a calming hand on Tim’s knee, which had been anxiously bouncing up and down for the past hour, “We’re just going to visit some friends of mine--nothing to be nervous about.”

“I really don’t have time for this--”

Kate cut her eyes to the side to glare at him, “The sheriff and the rest of the pack can handle one little wendigo no problem.”

“That doesn’t make me any less anxious.”

Kate shrugged, removing her hand from his knee to skip to the next song; Amy Winehouse’s raspy voice rasped through the speakers as Kate shot Tim a smile.

“Relax, Detective, you deserve some time off.”

.

It’s dusk when they finally pull up to a house in one of the nicer parts of the city, although house doesn’t quite cover the literal mansion that’s sitting innocuous at the end of the street. Kate grabs his duffel bag from the backseat and ushers Tim towards the front door. She doesn’t knock. Instead, she drops Tim’s bag at his feet and shoots him an apologetic look.

“I have some business in the city, and figured it’s about time you sit down with daddy dearest. I’ll be back later.”

She turned on her heel and left, driving away quickly, but Tim didn’t even have time to panic because the door behind him was opening on well-oiled hinges. 

“Good evening, Master Timothy, it’s wonderful to finally meet you.” The old man that answered the door spoke with an impeccable British accent, and he was dressed in a full suit despite the fact that it was close to six on a Tuesday night. 

“Um,” Tim said eloquently.

“Alfred,” the man supplied, picking up Tim’s bag and gesturing him inside. 

The foyer was well-lit, with marble floors and vaulted ceilings. A piano echoed from some other room, melancholy chords stretching through the otherwise still air. 

The butler marched efficiently through the mansion, through a dining room and into a well-organized kitchen. He placed the bag in a dumbwaiter, and Tim watched as it disappeared up into the house. 

“He’s here! He’s actually here!” A voice Tim recognized rang out, as Dick’s face appeared from around a corner. His dark hair gleamed under the kitchen lights, and he had one hand plunged into a box of Lucky Charms. 

“ _ He  _ doesn’t want to be here,” Tim replied, glancing nervously around. Alfred tutted disapprovingly, pulling the box out of Dick’s hands.

“You’re just in time for supper,” Alfred said, turning back to Tim, “Master Dick can show you to your room so you may freshen up.”

Dick grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a child. They walked through the bowels of the mansion, Dick chattering away, clearly not needing any replies from Tim. He asked about the drive, about Creede, about Tim’s favorite cereal. Tim just nodded and hummed every couple of sentences. The piano music was still floating down the hallway. Everyone in the mansion was no doubt a werewolf, so they all knew he was here. It was most likely Bruce or Damian, and Tim didn’t mind putting off meeting them for as long as possible. He had half a mind to shoot Kate several angry texts about abandoning him to pack dinner when he  _ was not even part of this pack _ . 

Finally, Dick motioned to a guest bedroom as ostentatiously luxurious as the rest of the mansion. His duffel bag was already perched on the bed. 

“You remember you’re way back to the dining room?” Dick asked, leaning against the doorway.

“I’ll figure it out,” Tim replied, his voice without inflection. 

Dick flashed him another smile, this one all teeth, before disappearing back down the hallway.

Tim let out a shuddering sigh and collapsed face first onto the bed. This was ridiculous. He didn’t have time for interpack drama. There was a wendigo running around his backyard and people were  _ dying _ , didn’t Kate understand that? If they wanted to fix the rift between Bruce and literally everyone else, then Steph or Jason could put on their adult pants and do it themselves. He flopped over onto his back and promptly screamed.

Perched on top of a bookcase was a small, gremlin. 

“You sound like a little girl, Drake, it’s unbecoming.”

Or rather, a child. Same difference, really.

Tim sat up, somehow feeling even more weary, “You must be Damian.”

The child leaped down from his perch, landing noiselessly on the plush carpet with a sniff, “Indeed. And you’re not welcome here.”

“Funny, that’s not how Dick and Alfred acted when they let me in and gave me a room.”

Damian rolled his eyes, jutting his bottom lip out in what he would probably vehemently deny was a pout, “Pennyworth is simply doing his job, and Grayson is an idiot.”

“Well, I’m here,” Tim said, “And I’m  _ very  _ excited for dinner.”

Damian growled at him, all werewolf posturing, but before he could move towards Tim, he cocked his head to the side with a scowl before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Tim was still sitting on the bed wondering for the umpteenth time in the last year how he always seems to end up in these situations when a small bell rang in the corner of the room.

“They’re those kind of rich people,” Tim muttered to himself, as he hopped off the bed and attempted to retrace his steps back to the dining room. 

The room itself was large, with an imposing dark wood table. Bruce was already seated at the head of it, dressed simply in a dark grey henley, Dick was sitting next to him, smiling widely at Tim. Next to Dick, Damian was glaring, trying his hardest to set Tim on fire with his eyes. He wondered idly if it was too late to turn tail and run. 

“Ah, Master Timothy, please have a seat.” Alfred came into the dining room pushing a cart heavy with plates of food and drinks. He turned to Bruce, “I believe Cassandra will be joining us tonight as well.”

Bruce grunted back. 

Cautiously, Tim took the seat Alfred indicated, and as the butler placed plates in front him, he was overwhelmed by the rich myriad of scents. Across from Tim, Dick lifted the cover off his plate.

“Pot roast, god, Al, you spoil us.” The butler was already pushing his cart out of the dining room, but Tim caught the ghost of a smile on the man’s face as he left.

For a while, only the sounds of their eating filled the room, but Tim could only stare at the pot roast for so long. Carefully, he looked up. Dick kept glancing between Bruce and Tim like he was waiting for something exciting to happen, and Damian had transferred his heated glare from Tim to his plate. On a gamble, Tim looked towards Bruce, who was gazing back at him with an even gaze. Surprised, Tim choked on a piece of meat; he hacked out a cough, and Damian snorted, gaze wickedly amused. 

Tim frantically gulped down the meat and dragged his eyes back up to meet Bruce’s gaze. It was difficult with the alpha; Tim wasn’t even a werewolf, but Bruce’s steady blue eyes made Tim want to bare his neck in submission. It was annoying. He gazed steadily into Bruce’s eyes instead in stupid human defiance.

“You’ve made yourself at home in Creede,” Bruce’s voice rumbled with the same deep gravel it had when he had visited the sheriff’s office in Creede. 

Tim shrugged, “Decided I needed a long term vacation.”

“Revealing the pack to you was a major breach of security,” Bruce responded, face and voice still void of any tells.

“Too bad Jay’s pack doesn’t defer to you for decisions then.”

Dick’s face was swinging back and forth between the two of them, and he looked seconds away from asking Alfred for popcorn. 

“Is Jason an alpha then?”

“Doesn’t need to be. They respect him.” 

And that’s the truth; Bruce may be wealthy and powerful, and betas may listen to him, but Jason earned his pack through blood and sweat. They don’t follow him because he’s an alpha; they follow him, because they want to. 

A hand lands on Tim’s shoulder and for the second time in the last hour, Tim screams. 

“Sorry.”

There’s a girl standing behind him, her hair a dark sheath on either side of her angular face. 

“Hello, Cassandra,” Bruce greeted, and Tim retracted all his previous thoughts on the girl. Steph’s descriptions had been vague at best, and now that Cass was taking the seat Tim had purposely left open between him and Bruce, he realized this was the scariest person in Jason’s former pack. There was a certain aura around her that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. She reminded him of Kate.

Cass’s entrance stalled Bruce and Tim’s showdown and the conversation moved on to Bruce asking Cass about her latest trip. Her replies are short, but something around Bruce’s eyes soften as he listens to her. 

Bruce swans off to the bowels of the mansion as soon as dinner finishes, leaving Tim to the mercy of his three betas. Damian is looking at him with a sneer, as if he were something the proverbial cat dragged in. 

“I’m leaving,” he announced, hopping off his chair and stalking off to go do whatever tiny werewolf gremlins do. 

Dick watched Damian go, worrying at his bottom lip before turning back to Tim, “What about a tour of the house?”

He didn’t really give Tim a choice though; jumping up to loop an arm through Tim’s. Dragging him along, he led him through the kitchen, where Alfred was washing dishes and into a long hallway lined with pictures. Cass was following behind them, her gaze intent on Tim, making his skin crawl, but before he could confront her, he registered that the hallway was lined with pictures of the pack—the  _ whole  _ pack.

A picture of Jason loomed above him, face soft with youth. He was grinning, face open and happy, eyes crinkled with amusement at something happening behind the camera. The picture next to it showed an even younger Jason getting a piggyback ride from Dick, a blurry Bruce was just discernible behind them. There was more all around them. Lone portraits and happy groups, Bruce smiling at his pack—at his kids. 

When Tim turned back to Dick he had to clear his throat and his voice was still hoarse when he asked, “What  _ really _ happened?”

Dick let his arm drop from where it had been looped through Tim’s. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, eyes sliding sideways to look at Cass. 

“Complicated,” was her contribution.

Tim rolled his eyes, “Obviously.”

Dick looked like he was searching for words, “Bruce and Jason have very different...ideas of what constitutes pack.”

Cass nodded in agreement.

“Bruce can be an infuriating combination of overbearing and hands-off, and as Jason grew up, they agreed less and less,” Dick continued, “It’s honestly for the best that Jay left when he did. I don’t think any of us could have handled Bruce and him in an alpha fight.”

“So, what? You just let him go?”

Dick looked sad, staring up at the picture of a young Jason smiling so carefree, “If we had tried to stop him, he would have hated us more.”

And that, Tim could understand--Jason was a bulldozer, there wasn’t really any point to getting in his way once he got going. Besides, Jay and the others were happy back in Creede, life was slower there, none of the hustle and worry of the city. It was simple, and they were happy. 

“Kate’s back,” Cass said in her raspy voice, head cocked back in the direction of the front hall. 

“Timmy,” Kate’s voice echoed back to them in sing-song, as she rounded the corner. She  gave Tim a quick once-over--checking to make sure he was okay, something all the wolves did, never mind the fact Tim was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. 

She moved on to stare coolly at Dick, before giving a respectful nod towards Cass.

“I’ve decided I don’t want to spend the night in the city, you ready to go?”

“What?” Dick asked with a wicked grin, “Date fall through?”

Kate flicked her hair haughtily over her shoulder, “We did everything we needed to,” she replied with a curl of her lips, “I’m just not a morning after type of gal.”

Dick rolled his eyes but started walking back down the hall, “I’ll grab your bag, Tim,” he called over his shoulder.

He was left alone with Kate and Cass who appeared to be silently communicating over his head. After several moments, Kate sighed out  _ I know _ to Cass before looping her arm through Tim’s, tugging him back towards the foyer. 

“I’m so fucking confused right now,” Tim muttered under his breath. 

Kate patted his arm, “I know, hun.”

Tim spent most of the late night drive home dozing as Hozier crooned over Kate’s radio. His mind was alight with a thousand different puzzle pieces, but none of them seemed to fit together. 

.

All the lights were out at the cabin by the time they pulled back up. Roy was passed out on the couch, a throw pillow hugged tightly in his arms, and Jason was still awake when Tim slipped into bed beside him. Jason immediately rolled over, slinging a leg over Tim’s hip, nuzzling into his neck. Tim whacked him halfheartedly on the arm.

“I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason replied, “It’s just…” he trailed off, licking a stripe down the tendon’s of Tim’s neck.

“I smell?” Tim tried, arching into Jason’s touch.

“Fucking reek,” Jay muttered before biting down. He shifted so his thigh was pressed up against the growing bulge in Tim’s boxers, and this was alright.

It had been an exhausting day, and Tim didn’t think he was capable of much else beyond letting Jay do whatever he wanted. It was okay to let go though, and just let Jason take care of him. He settled back with a moan, catching Jason in a long, lazy kiss.

.

The pack was once again gathered in Tim’s living room.

“So,” Roy asked, gesturing emphatically with the half-eaten chicken wing in his hand, “How do we take down a wendigo?”

“You start by finding the wendigo,” Kori replied, looking contemplative. 

“Yeah, but how?” Sauce was smeared around Roy’s mouth, and Kori thumbed it away with a small grin. 

“A wendigo isn’t like a werewolf. What we’re dealing with isn’t rational--it’s barely human. It’s a cannibalistic nature spirit,” Tim had his laptop balanced on his stomach, open to his extensive notes on the creature.

“What I’m more worried about,” Jason said from where he was curled around Tim on the couch, “Is why it came here in the first place.”

“Aren’t they inherently chaotic?” Kate asked.

“Maybe it sensed unrest and came to eat all the humans fucking with nature,” Steph said in agreement. 

“We have time to deal with the why after we deal with the immediate threat,” Tim said, “We need to kill it.”

“Let’s just use Tim as bait,” Roy said, bumping Tim’s leg, “Worked great the first time.”

Jason growled, “No. Not happening.”

Tim elbowed him in the hard planes of his stomach, “Can you think of a better idea?”

“Any idea is better than sticking you in the middle of a forest with a fucking wendigo.”

Tim rearranged himself on the couch so he could look Jason in the eyes, “This is all we have. You can’t just chase after it and rip its throat out. It’s faster and stronger.”

“Sounds like you already have a plan.”

All of their eyes fell on him, a pack of steady, unblinking werewolf stares. 

“Well,” Tim said, “We need to get its heart.”

“Easy,” Jason growled, lip curling.

“That won’t stop it though, not completely. We’ll need to lock it in a silver box and bury it in a church cemetery. At least, that’s the general consensus.”

“Who’s general consensus,” Roy asked, snapping a chicken bone between his teeth. 

Tim shrugged, “The internet’s.”

“Huh.”

They were silent, considering the task ahead of them. They had to do something; the town of Creede relied on them, and Tim still saw the wendigo’s gaunt, decaying face everytime he closed his eyes. Those whispers haunted his dreams. This wasn’t a creature that would just disappear back into the woods if they let it; no--it was going to keep attacking, keep  _ killing _ , until they stopped it.

Something was happening out in the woods-- _ something  _ was angry, and Tim didn’t think taking the wendigo out was going to be the end of it. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to think Jason’s pack wasn’t going to be able to handle it alone if anything else crawled its murderous ass down the mountain and out of the woods. As much as he didn’t like the idea, a proper trip back down to Denver might just be necessary if things got any worse.


	4. walking in these spooky old woods alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and the pack take a late night stroll through the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! college is hard. please enjoy this chapter and my blatant love for all things horror and teen wolf lol

The sun was just starting to set, slipping steadily away behind the dense foliage in the forest. Tim was sitting on a tree stump in the same clearing where he had first encountered the wendigo, trying to calmly go over a checklist in his head. In the backpack leaning against his leg was an ornately carved silver box, just big enough to fit the rotted heart of a wendigo. 

There was a lady who lived past Creede, farther into the forest than most of the town’s other citizens. Her name was Pamela, and she was kind enough to Tim, but stood on edge whenever anyone else from the pack was around. Tim wasn’t quite sure  _ what  _ she was, but she seemed happy enough to live secluded away surrounded by the wilderness, listening to Stevie Nicks as she tended to her overgrown garden. Once, Tim had helped her with some tourists who had been vandalizing trees, and she had promised him a favor in return with a very knowing look. When he had asked her if she had a box made from silver, she had stared at him long and hard, as if she were searching his very soul before procuring exactly what he needed.

Pamela scared him, and he intended to always stay on her good side. 

So he had a silver box, and the local pastor had been notified that they needed access to the cemetery that night for an ongoing investigation--the pack was on high-alert. Tim had a rifle resting against his other thigh and tried to remind himself that Jason and the others wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He was fine--everything was  _ fine _ . But,  _ God _ , it felt like that creature was following him everywhere he went. He would be standing in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee and the whispering would start, insistent and incomprehensible; something was there, in the corner of his eye, just out of reach--haunting him.

Even now, sitting in the twilight of the forest, it no longer felt like the woods around him were chaotic and uncaring--that was understandable--no, there was something lurking in the darkness, some evil. It had drawn the n oppera-bō here, and now the wendigo. Something ancient was stirring, and Tim honestly did not know if Jason’s pack could stop it. 

The sun had set, and the night creatures of the forest chittered and rustled around him. A bat swooped above him, and an owl hooted in the distance. Moving his backpack, Tim resettled himself so he was seated on the ground, leaning against the tree stump. Around him the forest continued its nighttime symphony, trees creaking in the gentle wind, and Tim, exhausted from everything that had been happening leaned his head back against the stump, letting his eyes rest. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there when the telltale signs of something lumbering through the forest roused him. He could hear twigs snapping under foot from just beyond the edge of the clearing--he jumped to his feet, clutching the shotgun close as he scanned the gloom. Leaves crunched behind him, and he whipped around, raising the barrel of the gun, but it was just Jason standing with his back to Tim, facing the woods.

“Jay, what’re you doing here? You were supposed to wait with Steph,” Tim asked, stepping towards Jason.

Jason didn’t reply though, just stood there staring out into the darkness.

“What is it?” Tim was nervous now as he walked closer, hand outstretched towards Jason, “Is the wendigo near?”

Just as Tim was about to grasp Jason’s hand, Jason turned slowly around, and Tim went stumbling back, staring up into the empty void where Jason’s face should have been. An unearthly shriek screamed out of the woods from all around them; it was the loudest noise he had ever heard, building like a train thundering towards them.

Tim gasped awake.

His gun still lay across his lap, and his neck hurt from the angle he had been dozing against the tree. All the hair on his arms was standing on end, and he could feel sweat beading on his upper lip despite the chill of the night air. It was still unnaturally quiet, but there was no faceless creature standing in the clearing with him--no unnerving facsimile of Jason sent out to taunt him.

Standing up, he gathered his bag and the gun, not wanting to accidently doze off again, especially with his nightmares getting worse. He decided to light a fire, perhaps that would draw the wendigo in.

He set about making a circle with some worn stones and ventured closer to the trees to collect some dry wood. The darkness beyond the clearing felt like a tangible thing pushing closer to him, ravenous and wanting to swallow him whole. He started to count his breathing,  _ three seconds in, hold, three seconds out _ . He had read somewhere that steady breathing kept you calm. He wasn’t sure it was working. 

He lit his small pile of branches and dead leaves with a match and scooted closer to the warm light and the false security it held in its flames. It was close to 2 AM when the whispering started.

It was faint at first, quiet enough that Tim thought he might be imagining it. As it got louder, he picked up faint snatches of words amongst the gibbering.

“...help you…” it repeated over and over, its voice raspy and stretched too thin. He could hear it pacing right outside the perimeter of the clearing behind him, but he didn’t dare turn around. It went quiet, and Tim strained to hear where it had gone.

Then--just in his line of sight, a hand, gray and rotten, curled around the edge of a tree, far too high up for a human to reach. Without taking his eyes off of it, Tim reached out for his shotgun and phone. 

_ It’s here _ , he texted out blindly, tense with anxious anticipation. 

The wendigo stepped out from behind the tree and staring up at its impossibly tall form, its jagged antlers casting ominous shadows across the clearing, Tim couldn’t help but remember the old tribal legends he had read about it.

The wendigo, the spirit of the lost places: it certainly looked it, haunted and abandoned. Tim remembered the people it had killed, the drunken kids playing with fire, the logger--it was a spirit of the wild that couldn’t comprehend human corruption. It killed, not out of malicious intent, but because it could not stand to see the wilds destroyed by the uncaring spread of humanity.

As Tim watched, the wendigo took one step forward, but it seemed to move an impossible distance, clearing have the space between them in a single movement. Noise exploded around him, jarring the terrifying silence that has blanketed the clearing. The cicadas buzzed on loop, like too loud static in his ears, and in the distance it sounded as if a baby was crying, over and over. Tim was still facing the wendigo, gun up and cocked, when a figure moved out of the forest to his left. In the corner of his eye, it looked like a small creature had wandered into the clearing, Keeping his gun trained on the unmoving wendigo, Tim glanced over and realized a man had crawled out of the forest. His hands were bloody and buried in the detritus of the forest floor as he pulled himself closer to Tim. His hair was a matted mess, and hiss eyes were frantic and bloodshot. 

He was staring at Tim with wide, unblinking eyes, his head cocked at an unnatural angle to look up at him—a sharp enough angle to break a person’s neck. He was still crawling forward, and asTim looked behind him, he realized that that man did not have an legs. As a matter of fact, he was all torso, an endless stretched of mottled skin like rotten meat stretching like taffy into the forest behind the man. 

As the baby continued to wail on loop and static filled the air, Tim decided fuck it, sent a warning shot towards the man dragging his unending body along the forest floor and ran into the woods.

As he sprinted, jumping over exposed roots, his labored breath harsh in the night air, the forest around him awoke, animals screeching and creatures pounding across the forest floor just out of his line of sight. He didn’t dare look behind him, but it sounded as if something indescribable was lumbering close behind him. His head was a cacophony of noise as the strange infant wail continued to pierce the air and rhythmic stomping surrounded him on all sides--even the trees seemed to reach down and grasp at him, snagging his hair and clothing. He ran into another clearing, pausing for just a moment to glance behind him. The wendigo was there, looming amongst the trees and glowing eyes peered at him from the tree tops, and then the world went black. So dark, he couldn’t see the wendigo or the trees or even his hand in front of his face. Everything was silent, the wailing gone, his harsh panting quiet. He tried to scream but whatever noise he managed to make fell on his own deaf ears. And then, like every noise in the world suddenly rushed into the clearing all at once, the loudest noise he had ever heard surrounded him. It was deafening, like standing next to a train as it rushed past, but so much worse. The noise was all around him and in him--filling his mind like cotton. Without realizing it, he fell to the ground, curled up and clutching at his head as if to claw the noise from inside him. 

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, curled up; alone and in pain. But the sun was rising when Jason finally found him, eyes manic with worry and bare chest streaked with blood. 

“Tim!” His voice was ragged, cracking on Tim’s name as he drew close, crouching beside his prone form. Tim shied away as he reached out to touch him; his entire body felt raw, like he had been flayed alive, and he could still hear the echoes of that impossible noise echoing in his ears. 

“Tim, it’ me. It’s okay--you’re okay.” Jason reached out again, slower this time, and carefully gathered Tim into his arms, “It’s gone. The wendigo disappeared.”

.

“I’m really sick and tired of being a supernatural damsel in distress,” Tim grumbled from bed. The entire pack was gathered in their bedroom, sprawled across the mattress in a tight knot of bodies. 

“You’re not a damsel,” Steph said, poking him in the thigh, “Your statistical likelihood towards the supernatural is just higher than most people.”

Tim was pressed tight against Jason’s chest, whose arms were wrapped tight around Tim’s torso. He hadn’t let Tim farther than arm’s reach all day, but Tim couldn’t find it in him to care--it felt like Jason’s arms around him were the only things keeping him together at this point. He wondered, in that moment, what Connor was doing back in Metropolis. Was he still going to that old hole in the wall coffee shop they practically lived at when pulling all-nighters trying to crack cases? They used to get take-out and watch Netflix on Sunday nights at Tim’s apartment--that felt like a lifetime ago. Or like a half-remembered dream; as if Tim’s life had never been that mundane. 

He fell asleep with Steph’s head pillowed on his thigh and Roy holding tight to one of his hands, and Jason’s stubble rough against his neck. 

.

 

When he woke up, the sun had already long set, and Tim could tell something was wrong. Kate was standing solidly between the bed and the door leading to the rest of the house, a low, subvocal growl filling the otherwise quiet room. He was still pressed up against Jason’s chest, and he could feel every muscle behind him tense and alert. Roy, Steph, and Kori were all sitting up on the bed, heads cocked as they listened to something Tim couldn’t hear. He struggled to push against Jason’s arms locked like a vice around him.

“What is it? What’s happening?”

Jason’s growl rumbled deep in his chest as he pulled Tim back towards him.

“Jason!” Tim snapped, shoving at one of his arms.

Jason shifted to look down at him, his eyes piercing and otherworldly.

“Bruce’s pack is outside,” his voice was gravelly around the fangs crowding his mouth.

Tim huffed a sigh at the theatrics of the pack and started to push his way out of bed. 

“Where are you going,” Roy said, reaching out to grip Tim’s arm.

Tim shrugged him off and began rustling through his dresser for some clean clothes. 

“I’m hungry. You lot can stay in here and growl, and they can skulk outside all you guys want. I’m going to go make myself some dinner.”

He yanked on some pants and one of Jason’s oversized shirts and shuffled his way past Kate and out of the room. On his way past the living room, he glanced through the front window, but couldn’t see anyone lurking in the yard. Jason had followed behind him, one hand clenched tightly in the back of Tim’s shirt, subvocally growling as he trailed Tim into the kitchen.

One would think that moving to a small mountain town from the beating heart of Metropolis would mean that Tim’s life had calmed down. Instead, it felt like he constantly had whiplash--one second it’s a wendigo stalking him through the woods, the next, it’s Jason’s ex-pack chilling on his lawn  _ Delightful Children from Down the Lane  _ style. 

There was still a tupperware full of chili in the fridge from a couple of nights ago, so Tim set about pouring it into a pot to warm up on the oven. Jason had taken up a post in the middle of the kitchen, body angled so he was between Tim and the front door. The others had joined them, Steph and Roy attempting to sit casually at the kitchen table, while Kori and Kate gave up all pretense and just stood, arms crossed, by the front door.

As he stirred the pot of chili, Tim tried to remember how close it was to the full moon and prayed that he wasn’t going to have to deal with a full-on werewolf brawl on top of his wendigo-induced hangover. 

Just as he was ladling some chili into a bowl, Jason let out a loud growl and moved closer to Tim, boxing him back against the counter. 

“Watch the chili,” Tim grumbled, pushing futilely against Jason’s back, but he didn’t move, just growled louder.

Stephanie had her head cocked to one side, listening to something Tim couldn’t hear, and Kate had moved towards the large window in the living room to glare out into the darkness.

Slurping up a bite of the chili, Tim pushed half-heartedly against Jason’s back again.

“Mind telling those of us without super hearing what the hell is going on?”

It was Roy who glanced back and answered Tim, “Barbara, Dick, and Cass are outside. They want to talk.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad,” Tim said, words slurred around another bite of chili.

“They want to talk to  _ you _ ,” Roy emphasized. 

Whiplash, lots and lots of whiplash--that was Tim’s life. The thought of walking outside into the darkness made the walls seem as if they were closing in on him. No doubt the surplus of werewolves around him could hear his heart rate jackhammer up, could taste his fear like vinegar in the air.

Jason turned towards him and carefully removed the bowl of chili from his shaking hands. 

“You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmured, leaning in close to drag his stubble reassuringly across Tim’s cheek. Tim clutched at him, breathing in his solid, earthy smell. 

“I know,” he said, “but I should talk to them. They’re not going to hurt me.”

“I’m going with you,” Jason said.

“Uh, yeah, we’re all going with you,” Steph said, “you’re on permanent pack watch.”

Tim couldn’t even grumble out a complaint about being able to take care of himself, because, as much as he was used to watching his own back, he didn’t have to anymore. He had Jason--he had the whole damn pack watching out for him, wanting to keep him safe, and for once, he was okay with that.

As they all made their way towards the front door, Jason stayed in front of Tim, the bulk of his body keeping Tim grounded, and as he held Jason’s hand tight, Tim had never felt safer. 

The front yard was shrouded by the tall trees encroaching on the house from all sides and the only break in the dark green wall was the stretch of the gravel driveway leading out to the main road. Three figures melted out of the shadows, and Tim wondered if dramatic entrances were a werewolf thing or if it just ran in the family.  Dick and Barbara strode across the grass, Cass slinking silently beside them. 

“Hey there, Timmy,” Dick greeted as they grew closer, stopping a conservative distance in front of Jason’s gathered pack.

Tim nodded back. He didn’t distrust Bruce’s pack--they were Jason’s family, and to be honest, had been nothing but nice to Tim. But he was loyal to a fault, and Jason was standing next to him tensed like a spring pulled taut, and it was all he could do to rub his thumb comfortingly against Jason’s hand. 

He wondered what they looked like to the others, exhausted and stretched too thin--dark circles heavy under their eyes. The woods around them were a palpable wall of darkness at Tim’s back, and it felt like the whispers never quite left the back of his skull. 

“Jay,” Barbara’s voice was soft, “You look exhausted.” 

Jason snorted, “Yeah, well, we’ve been dealing with some shit.”

Cass muttered something that Tim’s human ears didn’t catch, but next to him Roy choked out a surprised laugh.

“Why are you even here,” Jason bites out, ignoring them.

“We miss you, Little Wing,” Dick tries, taking a step towards them.

Its Steph who lets out an incredulous noise at that, “No, you don’t get to trapeze in and out of our lives when your guilt is getting a bit too heavy for your liking.”

And Tim forgets sometimes, in the wake of Jason’s own anger constantly simmering under the surface, that he wasn’t the only one broken and bitter over the abandonment. Steph had been pack once--had been family. Hell--Kori is staring at Dick like she’s drinking him in and trying to set him on fire all at once. 

Once, when Tim had been experimenting with liquor and wolfsbane, Kate had gotten a little tipsy and revealed that she was Bruce’s cousin; had told several embarrassing stories of growing up his younger cousin. She had been sad and distant when she talked about how he had changed after his parents had been shot by hunters. Tim knew Kate was older than them, and sometimes he wondered why she even stayed here; why she cared about any of this, but she was glaring hard at Barbara, and maybe, Tim mused, they had all been heartbroken by this rift in the pack.

“We came to help,” Cass rasped out, looking very put-out by all of the self-pity. Tim was glad he couldn’t scent out emotions like the rest of them; the night air probably reeked. 

“We don’t need your help.”  
“Last I heard,” Barbara said, “You had a wendigo problem.”

“We can handle it.”

“You don’t have to alone,” Dick sounded close to pleading. 

Jason looked ready to turn around and stomp back into the house, leaving them in the dark, but Tim reached out a hand to still him.

“What makes you think you can help us?”

Cass looked out into the woods, “Something out there is upset,” she said, “and restless.”

“So what? You gonna sing the trees a lullaby?” Roy asked, a sneering twist to his lips.

Roy had been Dick’s best friend once, Jason had told Tim. They had grown up together, before Bruce had brought Jason home, and Tim wasn’t sure who was more hurt by the split in the pack, Dick or Roy.

“We just thought you might want some reinforcements,” Barbara told him.

“Where’s the little gremlin then,” Tim asked.

Barbara’s lips quirked up into the ghost of smile, “Running interference with B.”

Which was probably code for Damian thinking this was all a useless endeavor.   

Next to Tim, Jason tensed again, and Tim noticed all the others had as well. Kori and Kate crouching low, and Steph crowded close to Tim’s otherside. The night  _ had  _ been quiet, just the usual buzz of cicadas and the gentle rustle of the wind through leaves high above them, but something had startled the calm.

Tim had never really processed how the forest encircled his home--the wild encroaching on the domestic. He couldn’t quite explain it, but now the forest seemed to envelope the clearing his house stood in, visceral and malevolent. He could hear the whispering again, louder but just as unintelligible. It seemed to come from all around them, as if the trees themselves were talking to them. Jason was staring at something at the edge of the forest, eyes flashing electric. 

A man stood there, arms akimbo and face staring at the sky above him, with his neck arched back at an unnatural angle. Next to Tim, Steph whimpered; she was staring to their left, at a huge, ancient oak tree at the edge of the property, a body was hanging amongst its twisting branches, swaying back and forth from a rope around its neck, but its eyes were open and staring back at them, overly wide, wit a mouth stretched in a grin too big for its face. 

There was a prickling at the back of his neck, and Tim swung around. Behind him, standing just at the tree line something wearing Roy’s face. It was too tall; arms and legs stretched out and spindly, with Roy’s face loose fitting on its head.

“Inside, now.” Tim ordered, tugging Jason towards the house. Everyone, as if broken from a spell, tore into motion, rushing towards the cabin and its illusion of safety. Kate slammed the door behind them, locking it and tugging the couch in front of it. Steph shut the blinds on the window as Roy pushed a shelf in front of it. 

“You have it handled?” Barbara asked Jason sarcastically, but her voice shook, and her eyes were still gazing towards the door as if the horrors of the forest were painted on the backs of her eyelids.

Tim ignored their bickering and made a beeline for where he kept his shotgun and pistol. 

“Tim, what are you doing?” Kori had followed him.

“Fuck this,” his voice was shrill and he didn’t even attempt to reign in the way his gut was twisting in terror, “Absolutely fuck this. This is my home, and I’m sick and tired of being afraid of trees, for fuck’s sake!” 

He grabbed the guns, strapping the holsters on and swinging the shotgun over his back. 

“Where are you going?” She fell into step beside him as he stomped back towards the kitchen. 

“Whatever is doing this is out in those woods, and I’m going to  _ deal with it. _ ”

“Whoa there,” Jason caught him around the middle, reeling him in and bracketing his face in this hands.

Jason’s hands were huge, enveloping his face; he gulped in air, trying to calm his breathing. 

“Jason, I’m tired of being afraid. We can’t keep doing this.”

“He’s right,” Kate said quietly, ever the voice of reason. 

Jason looked around the room, eyes lingering on Dick, Barbara, and Cass. His whole body seemed to sag, the breath punched out of him in exhaustion.

“I know,” he dragged a hand over his face, “I know.”

They were all quiet as they got ready; Kori and Roy disappeared further into the house for a few minutes, and Kate stood sentry by the kitchen door. 

By the time they had all steeled their nerves to venture back outside, it was nearing midnight. Kori, Kate, Barbara, and Cass shifted almost immediately, snouts swinging through the air as they scanned the forest. 

Jason and Steph stayed close to Tim as the wolves spread out around them as they walked deeper into the forest. Roy and Dick walked behind them, covering their backs. 

“We want to find the area most steeped in magic,” Tim told them, his shotgun at the ready. 

They walked for what seemed like hours; the forest was eerily quiet around them. No bugs, no owls, no trees swaying in the breeze. They stayed close together, and every once in a while, Jason would tense up beside him, and the wolves would whine, but whatever was watching them from the darkness didn’t approach, so they just kept walking. For a thirty minute stretch, a voice followed just behind them, begging and pleading for them to turn around, and Jason placed his hand at the back of Tim’s neck, keeping him facing forward. Eventually, the voice faded.

Tim heard the strange, looping baby wail that he had heard in the clearing with the wendigo, and he murmured for the others to ignore it.

The wolves led them deep into the forest, guiding them towards some unseen source of magical unrest. None of them really knew what they were heading towards, and Tim braced for the other shoe to drop. 

Eventually, the air around them began to buzz like a live wire, as if something had infused the air with raw electricity. It made all the hair on Tim’s body stand on end, and he gritted his teeth against the almost physical discomfort it caused. The wolves were slinking lower to the ground, as if trying to avoid something, though they were seemingly alone amongst the trees. Moments later, a high whine filled the air, and everyone around him winced. As they continued to trek forward, it grew louder and higher pitched, the buzz in the air setting his teeth on edge. The werewolves slowed down, physically fighting against whatever was permeating the air. They broke into a clearing and in front of them, a tree wider than any tree Tim had ever see stood before them.

It was a deep, inky black and leafless, yet it seemed to pulse with life. The wolves were almost flat on the ground now, and Steph and Roy had both dropped to their knees, hands clamped over their ears. 

“Jason,” Tim had to practically yell at the man beside him before he seemed to process what was happening. Jason ripped his gaze away from the tree and look at Tim.

“What is it?” 

From the otherside of Jason, Dick called out, “It’s a nemeton.”

The name rang a bell; Tim remembered reading something about trees used for ancient rituals and old magic during his research. 

“How do we get rid of it?” Jason gritted out, and Tim realized that both werewolves were fighting to just keep standing.

“I don’t think we can,” Dick replied, “It looks wrong, somehow.”

And that made sense. The pack had been here for years, and all this supernatural nonsense had gone into overdrive only recently. If the nemeton was really some ancient magic tree, then why was it freaking out now? Tim examined its twisting, black branches and its massive trunk, near the base, nestled among its gnarled roots something glinted against the black. Tim moved towards the tree, but jerked back when Jason grasped at his elbow. His back was bowed and a trickle of blood was beginning to run from his nose.

“Jay, you gotta trust me.”

Jason looked pained, but he released him, falling down to his knees with a thump. Tim moved towards the tree, shotgun still raised, and squatted to get a closer look at the roots. A chainsaw blade was buried deep in the trunk of the tree and oozing black sap dripped from the wound. Now that Tim was this close to the tree, it not longer felt as if it were pushing him away. Now it felt as if he were being sucked in, compelled to reach out and touch it’s black, sickly bark. The exhaustion of the past several weeks weighed down on his shoulders, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to curl up at the base of the tree and go to sleep. At some point, the whispering at started back up again, and he could understand it now. 

It sounded like his mom, whispering for him to go to sleep after another late night of reading past his bedtime, like Conner telling him to take a break from a case and sleep, like Jason laying next to him in bed, stroking a hand through his hair. He wanted to listen, wanted to lay down then and there, but something was niggling at the back of his mind.

Hadn’t he been doing something?

There was a buzzing in his ears, like a fly banging against a window screen in the summer heat. 

He sunk to his knees.

The tree was right there, and everyone who had ever meant safety to him was whispering in his ears to  _ go to sleep _ . His eyes were heavy--

“Tim!” 

There were hands on him, lifting him up, large and bracketing his hips. When Tim turned to look at Jason, head fuzzy and confused, there was blood trickling from his ears now, running in red rivulets through the scruff on his face. 

“I’m tired,” Tim murmured, trying to lay back down at the base of the tree.

“I know, Tim, I know,” Jason said, “But you can’t sleep here. I need you to focus; the tree, what’s wrong with the tree?”

Tim shook his head, trying to clear it, trying get the buzzing to go away. God, he just wanted to sleep. He had been looking at the chainsaw stuck in the tree. Maybe that was making the noise. He reach out for it, trying to find an off switch.

Jason’s bigger hand swatted his away and reached for the chainsaw blade himself. He began to pull on it, dragging the rusting metal through the tree’s viscera. Black sap clung to it, trying to drag it back in, but Jason tugged harder, and with one final yank, the blade pulled free from the tree with a loud squelch and Jason fell back on his ass, pulling Tim with him.

The buzzing stopped.

As a matter of fact, everything stopped. The electric feel of the air, the high pitched whine, the palpable malice of the wilderness around them. The hole in the tree was knitting itself back together, the bark knotting over itself. 

Jason sniffed the air, “It doesn’t smell like rot anymore.”

Cass and the other wolves circled the tree, careful to not touch it. Jason passed the chainsaw blade to Dick and moved to look out into the woods.

“It doesn’t feel...off, anymore,” he mused to Tim.

“Could it really be that easy?” Tim asked, “Just a sick, old tree?”

“A nemeton isn’t just a tree,” Dick told him, “They’re sacred and fuel the magic of entire regions. This blade doesn’t look too old. Seems like someone got it into their head to try and chop it down, and the nemeton was just trying to protect itself.”

“That would explain the wendigo,” Steph said.

“And all the dead bodies in the woods,” Roy added ruefully.

.

They began the long trek back to the house. Nothing approached them--No whispers, no creatures begging them to turn around. Just Tim and his pack taking a late night stroll through the woods.

**Author's Note:**

> comments make the world go round :)


End file.
